


Double Play

by canox



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clothed Sex, Con Artists, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Partners in Crime, Public Sex, Quiet Sex, Rey & Rose Tico Are Best Friends, Rey is a bad girl, and i love this for them, bad behavior, but when he does, caper, except when she's a good girl, oh boy, tbh ben doesn't show up for a couple chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canox/pseuds/canox
Summary: Rey and Rose are partners in crime, a two-woman team of grifters playing out one last con.Ben is their mark, an art collector who’s surprisingly willing to (ahem) put skin in the game.Just how much can Rey take from him?
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 61
Kudos: 68





	1. The play

**Author's Note:**

> Easy, breezy, con artistry!

This breakup should be a snap. Rey’s so sure of it that she’s given herself exactly 30 minutes between meeting Beau at the park and meeting Rose for drinks. She glances at her phone. Beau had better show up on time.

She’s been laying the groundwork for weeks, dropping hints about engagement rings, cooing at every baby they pass on the sidewalk. It’s always better if her boyfriends think she’s the one who loved them too much than the one who used them and dumped them.

Here he comes. Rey stands up from the bench, tugs her skirt down, and waves with a big smile. He gives the barest finger-wiggle back.

“Hi, baby,” she purrs. She leans in for a kiss, but he turns his head so her lips land on his cheek. She sits back down and puts on a pout. “What’s wrong?”

He sits a foot away and takes one of her hands in both of his. “I think we need to talk.”

Rey widens her eyes expectantly. “Is this about our future?”

“Well, sort of.”

“Don’t be nervous,” she prompts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“That’s the problem. I know you love me.”

“And you love me too, right?” She scoots closer to him, trying to touch his thigh.

“Well, I think you might love me a little more than I love you.”

“What are you saying?” Rey lets her face crumple. If she thinks about abandoned kittens while he talks, she can probably come up with a few tears.

“I’m saying I think we should break up.”

“What?”

“I don’t think we’re right together.”

“But we’re so good together!” she blurts out. “I thought we were going to get married! I thought you asked me to come to the park tonight so you could propose!”

His mouth falls open. Hers would, too, if she were on the other end of this performance. “What made you think that?”

“We’re sitting by the water, it’s a beautiful evening, and the sun is about to set! It’s so romantic!”

“I’m not proposing.”

“But you could have!” she wails. “Instead you’re embarrassing me in public!”

Beau looks around, bewildered. There’s no one close by except a man jogging toward them on the path, who stops to stretch his calves on the metal railing that runs beside the water.

“I’m sorry!” Beau says. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I really think this is for the best.”

Rey pulls up the kittens and feels her eyes well up. She sniffles loudly. “If breaking up is what you want, I won’t stop you.”

He can’t hide his relief. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

“You know what they say,” she sobs. “If you love something, let it go.”

“Uh-huh. Um, I’m going to go. But it was really nice knowing you.”

“Oh, Beau. I’ll always be here for you. You can call me anytime!” she calls in a broken voice as he takes off down the path. The jogger glances at him, then at her. That’s fine. The scene is over.

She wipes away the last of the tears and checks her phone. She still has 13 minutes to make it to drinks.

*

Rose is already halfway through her glass of rosé when Rey slips between tables and takes the spot across from her.

“Tough day?”

“We had a new protester outside the clinic that looked like a sweet old grandma but called me a bitch. I might have tripped and spilled some of my coffee on her shoe.” Rose grimaces and drains her glass. “Lots of no-shows, too. I think most of them are afraid they can’t afford the appointment, so they just don’t come in.”

Rey signals and asks the server for a whole bottle of the rosé. Then she leans in. “Want to make it a fun night?” It’s their secret signal, the one that means they’re finding someone else to pay for their drinks, and then their dinner, and sometimes even their cabs home.

Rose looks around, casually shifting her neck like she’s stretching. “Who?”

“There’s a table by the entrance to the patio. Big watches, no wedding rings. I did a little recon on my way in.”

Rose opens her mouth to answer, but yawns instead.

“Let’s just catch up then.” Rey pours for both of them. “Remember when we pretended to be sisters and those guys believed it?”

Rose taps her glass against Rey’s. “We didn’t even have to say that one of us was adopted. They just completely bought it.”

“Remember when we had that foie gras wrapped in gold leaf?”

“Remember when it actually tasted kind of gross and metallic?”

“The ortolan was good, though.”

“God, but the guy who found the ortolan was boring. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-wife’s manicure habit like it was some character defect. Have some respect for the little birds, you know?”

“And heaven forbid the ex-wife have nice nails or want to be pampered.”

“Remember when you were a Danish princess? Was that in Paris?”

“I might have accidentally told them I was Dutch. Remember when we crashed that wedding and I ate so much I couldn’t move? That was a dinner to die for. Where was that?”

“Morocco? The second time?”

They order a second bottle as the setting sun turns the liquid in their glasses to gold. It’s always been like this. Ever since that time when Rey was two old fashioneds deep at a bar, her date made a rude comment to the server, and she decided she needed to get out of there, stat. 

As soon as she lied and loudly told the guy that she needed to go meet her friend, this complete stranger who turned out to be Rose stepped up to the bar and said oh my GOD there you are, I’ve been looking all over this place for you. Like they really had known each other for years. Like a gift from the universe, neatly dropped into Rey’s life just when she needed it.

Whatever one of them puts out, the other one picks up. They’ve gotten better at it over the years, as they turned their sights from drunk fellow students to trust-fund kids stretching their wings as they aged into their cash. 

For the first few years, it was just a way to supplement what Rey made as a gallery assistant and Rose as a research tech. Just a way to have a tasting menu instead of takeout, to spend summers in the Hamptons on someone else’s dime, to get to stay in hotels when they traveled instead of hostels.

It had been Rose’s idea to turn what they called their fun nights into something bigger. She’d read about how someone they’d gone to school with had founded a company that was getting all kinds of venture capital and insisted they could do it, too.

“This guy thinks he’s going to disrupt the laundromat industry!” Rose had yelled, jabbing a finger at the photo of his confidently toothy grin on the page of their alumni magazine. “He’s never lost a quarter to a broken machine in his life. The new Mr. Clean my ass.”

“You want to make a better detergent? Fabric softener?”

“I want to to convince big investors like these to give us money.”

“Because we’re good at getting people to give us money,” Rey had said, starting to see what Rose saw. “And we’ll need it to develop the exciting new technology at our company. Our startup. Our industry disruptor.”

Rose had grinned. “Exactly.”

Eveles, their startup, had taken off faster than they’d expected. It was amazing how many people wanted to believe that they’d discovered a way to turn any vaccine into a pill. No more poking babies at their checkups. No more needles at flu-shot clinics. Even though people put on a brave face, they were so afraid of a little jab that they practically lined up to invest.

It helped that Rey and Rose picked their marks carefully. They were mostly older men who had retired from positions of importance—lawyers, politicians, executives—but still wanted to be able to take meetings between rounds of golf. Especially meetings with two pretty young things who wore dresses and heels to lunch and seemed happy to sit through coffee entertaining stories about grandchildren and the good old days. 

There was one doctor on their company’s board: technically an M.D., but one who had self-published several books on the possible effects of alien landings on health. They steered clear of anyone who had actually worked at a pharmaceutical company.

Rey handled most of the press, clipping her speech in an extra-posh version of her British accent because it seemed to make people take her word as authoritative. In reality, they’d named Eveles over beers by shortening Everybody Hates Needles. In Rey’s truth-bending voice, the name became a nod to Eve, the first woman, because the company was founded by two women, and her interviewers nodded approvingly.

Rose got most of the technical questions, so they leaned in to the idea of her as the science expert. If the men with the money had a weakness for stereotypes, they figured, it was better to exploit it.

They’d played a long game, setting up a few research labs and giving their investors a demo every other quarter. But it couldn’t last forever. Eventually it would have become obvious—to reporters if not their investors—that they weren’t actually going to revolutionize vaccines.

That’s when they called Kaydel, who’d worked with Rose in the lab. Rey and Rose announced that the stress of running Eveles had become overwhelming and that they were stepping aside for new leadership in the form of another fresh-faced young woman. 

Their investors had more than warmed to Kaydel’s attentive manner, and she had quietly pivoted the company away from vaccines in pill form to the drier but more legitimate field of improving culture media for live vaccines.

Rey had paid off her student loans and socked away the rest of her outrageous Eveles salary, promising herself that she’d live off her savings for five years while making a go of her art. Rose, meanwhile, had donated most of her money to the women’s health clinic where she worked, and spent her days handling the phone and telling patients how to give urine samples. 

Sometimes Rey misses the thrill of power she felt walking into a meeting, when the men heard her heels clacking and all turned their heads at once. Sometimes she wishes she were putting on a crisp blazer instead of the same paint-smeared smock that lives on a peg in her studio. But mostly she relishes the freedom to devote time and resources to her work.

*

When Rose comes over for Friday night pizza, she notices the finished portrait of Beau in Rey’s studio right away. She has a theory that Rey’s boyfriends only ever last the time it takes Rey to paint them. It’s probably true. Rey gets bored once she figures out how their faces are put together.

“Oh, Rey,” she says. “Another one bites the dust? What did you use this time?”

“Let’s get married; don’t you love me; if you love something, let it go.”

“Again? Tsk. That’s the same line you gave what’s-his-name, the one before. Are you getting lazy?”

Rey shrugs. “I’m focusing on my art. Look at the brush work on his eyebrows.”

“You could always break up with them instead of getting them to break up with you. You don’t have to make it a game every time you get bored.”

“I like to stay sharp.”

“For what? We’re not going to run anything anytime soon. You’re going to paint, and I’m going to quit my job and go to med school.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Surprise, I guess. I want to go to med school and learn how to actually treat people. I’d feel more useful doing that than sitting at that desk and phoning them to see why they missed their appointment.”

“Rose, that’s great! What do you have to do, take the MCAT and write some essays?”

“Already taken, already written, already accepted.” Rose grins.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.” Rey stuffs a slice into her mouth, burning herself on the hot cheese.

“How? By painting a portrait of me wearing a white coat?”

“Okay, I can help now. Are you moving? How are you going to pay for this?”

“I only applied to schools in the city so I wouldn’t have to leave you.”

“Hey, like I told Beau, if you love something, let it go. I would have helped you move.” The thought of Rose moving away makes Rey want to cry genuine tears, but she pushes that feeling aside for now.

“Well, now you don’t have to. I renewed the lease on my apartment, so all I have to do is let the clinic know I’m quitting. Or cutting back on hours, depending on my class schedule.”

“But how are you going to pay for things if you’re not working full-time? Medical school costs a fortune.”

“Probably take out loans?” Rose sighs. “That’s the one thing I still have to figure out.”

“No way.” Rey jabs her half-chewed crust toward her friend to make her point. “Student loans are a nightmare. Half the reason I worked so hard on Eveles was so I could pay mine off. I’m not letting you do that. I’ll lend you some money.”

“Absolutely not. You’d have to go back to working at the gallery, and then you wouldn’t have time to paint.”

“Well, there is one other way.”

Rose knows exactly what Rey is suggesting. “No. Definitely not.”

“Come on.”

“We’re done with all that. No more fun nights, no more Eveles.”

“We don’t have to be done with it.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll allow you to take out student loans. Or we can ask Kaydel for the money.”

“That’s true. She’s probably good for it.”

“Come on. Just one last time before I become a serious artist and you become a doctor.”

“I guess it could be fun.”

“You know it’ll be fun.” Rey’s surprised by how much the idea of playing out one last game excites her. Her art is rewarding, sure, but her fulfillment is always undercut by worry that it’s never going to be perfect. It doesn’t compare to the immediate satisfaction that comes from running their schemes and getting away cleanly.

“That’s what worries me, though. Are we just going to be chasing thrills and running startups in our seventies? Always looking for one last score?”

“Fine, you’re right. I get bored working alone in my studio all the time. I miss working together.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“But you can become a surgeon or something. Get your kicks a different way.”

“What are you going to do when you need a fix?”

“Take up skydiving? I’ll figure it out. What’s more important is that we make a plan, you get paid, and we send you off to become Dr. Rose, M.D.”

“All right. Pinky swear to seal it?” It’s their good-luck ritual, the one they’ve always done in club bathrooms on wild nights out and in conference rooms before the reporters arrived.

“Solemnly swear,” Rey says, holding up her finger.

Rose twines her pinky around and shakes. “This is the last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the story of Theranos, a.k.a. the tale of how one woman convinced a whole bunch of old dudes she could get blood-test results from a finger prick on the basis of her black turtlenecks and not much else, WEIRDLY similar to Rey and Rose's startup, [it's fascinating](https://www.elle.com/culture/tech/a20954081/how-will-the-fall-of-theranoss-elizabeth-holmes-affect-women-leaders/)! [Here's more](https://www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/elizabeth-holmes-theranos-documentary-lean-in-feminism-811433/)!
> 
> (Liiiiikkeeeee she also [tried to convince everyone her husky was really a wolf](https://www.thecut.com/2019/02/elizabeth-holmes-told-everyone-her-husky-dog-was-a-wolf.html), which is VERY BOLD.)


	2. The mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have another chapter of buildup!

Finding a mark is going to be the hardest part. If they’re going to get the money by the end of the summer, they don’t have time to start another company. But a month or two is plenty of time to gain the trust of one rich person and siphon off some of their wealth.

How to select that one lucky—or is it unlucky—rich person? It was easier when they were going after trust-fund kids, who all seemed to know each other and were happy to introduce Rey and Rose around. It’s harder to pluck one out of wealthy obscurity, from behind a tinted town-car window or a chartered helicopter out of the city.

Fortunately they have a few well-connected friends and dinner on the calendar. Rey lived down the hall from Finn and Poe their first year at school, borrowing quarters from each other for their laundry, and the boys have since grown up to be an assistant to a brewery heiress (Finn) and the art director for a design magazine (Poe). 

They’re not exactly in on all of Rey and Rose’s schemes, but they’re helpful, which is more important. Finn’s willing to phone designer shops pretending to order clothes for his boss, Poe’s willing to act as graphic designer for whatever professional-looking websites they need to whip up, and both men are tapped in to the networks of the city’s richest denizens.

Finn arrives first, pouring himself a beer from the pitcher Rey and Rose have already ordered.

“Is there a menu somewhere?” He twists to look at the chalkboard on the wall.

“It’s our treat,” Rose says. “Chicken is on the way. We’ll explain when Poe gets here.”

There’s a blast of warm air from the sidewalk as Poe hurries in, hair damp at the roots with sweat. He flops into a chair and holds a hand out. “Beer me. Please.”

“What happened?” Rey passes him a frosty glass.

He sits up and takes a big sip. “God. Okay. We’re shooting homes for our January issue.”

He takes another gulp before answering. “New year, new faces, so I told Bazine—you remember my friend who’s an interior designer? I told her we could feature this apartment she did this spring. She just started her own firm, so I thought I’d do it as a favor to her.”

“And the apartment was...hideous?” Finn prompts. Poe loves to be egged on when he’s got a story to tell.

“No! No, it was gorgeous, of course; she does a great job. One of those giant new condo buildings by the park that would throw a shadow over the whole city if they weren’t made of glass. She’s gone very geometric, very simple shapes, very postmodern treehouse in the sky.”

“That’s easy, right? No knick-knacks to move around?”

“Exactly, it’s just very clean lines. She sent me a bunch of scouting shots beforehand so Beebs—you remember, the photographer?”

“Of course we know Beebs, Poe. They did our headshots for Eveles.” Rey divides the remaining beer between their four glasses.

“Oh, right. Anyway, so Beebs sees the shots and knows exactly what needs to happen. We get the equipment into the elevator, we get a code to go up so we don’t have to wait for the guy who owns the condo to get back from his run, the light is gorgeous, and we’re thinking maybe we can even get a cover shot out of this.”

“But then?” Rose takes her turn to help him along.

Poe leans forward dramatically. “The art is terrible. Rey, don’t say anything, I didn’t mean that. The art is fine. It just doesn’t fit. It wasn’t in any of the scouting shots, but it’s all over the one wall that’s not glass, and there are a bunch of sculptures on the coffee table and the side tables.”

“And you can’t take it out? We’ve seen your photoshopping skills,” Rose prods.

“Too much work. My photo editor is already swamped taking all the electrical outlets and light switches out of the room shots for our wallpaper story. She can’t get the patterns to match up.

“So I thought, okay, Beebs and I have pretty steady hands, we’ll just get a kitchen towel so we don’t get any fingerprints on the sculptures and move them out of the way for the shot. I didn’t think the guy was even home or that he’d ever know, because we were going to put them right back.”

“But you dropped one?” Rey’s palms actually get sweaty as she thinks of all the disasters that could befall one of her paintings. A hole ripped in the canvas. Coffee spilled on her gorgeous colors.

“Even worse. As soon as we talked about it, this guy barrels down the hallway and starts yelling at us, like, don’t you dare touch my art collection. I almost screamed.”

“Was he watching you the whole time?” Rose asks.

“Yes!” Poe slams both hands on the table, and they all jump. “Yes, he was. He told us that he has the whole apartment wired for sound and video, and that he’d been keeping an eye on us ever since we got there.”

“Oh my sweet sainted fuck.” Finn cringes so deeply that he buries his face in his hands. “Thank god I talked Maz out of doing the same thing in her house. It would have saved her money on insurance. But it would have taken years off my life. Imagine being watched all the time.”

“That’s such a power play, though. Letting you think he wasn’t even home and then popping out to say you’d been on camera the whole time.” Rose wrinkles her nose in disgust.

“I know!” Poe pauses for a sip of beer. “I mean, I guess it keeps people from stealing his art collection. I’ve never had anything like that happen on a shoot, though. It was mortifying.”

“But did you get the shots?” Rey kind of wants to see the sculptures that Poe thinks are terrible. Usually his taste is pretty eclectic.

“Of course we did! Beebs and I are professionals. We got our photos with the weird collection, and then we calmed the guy down and took some portraits of him. Then we had to do the bedrooms and the bathrooms. 

“I didn’t even ask about the office because he’d already gone back in there and shut the door. My editor is going to threaten to wring my neck, but I don’t think she’s strong enough to actually do it. Unlike this guy.”

“Can we see the shots? Now, before the chicken gets here.” Rose looks around to make sure the food isn’t incoming.

“And relive possibly my worst day at any job ever?” Poe heaves a sigh. “Only for you, my friends. Only for you.”

He finds the email from Beebs with a link to the photos and holds his phone out to Finn.

“I can’t,” Finn says. “I’m too embarrassed for you.”

Rose reaches for it. “Let me.” She starts scrolling through, and Rey leans over her shoulder.

It is a gorgeous apartment, high enough to feel like the glass walls are the windows of an airplane, framing views of the city in miniature below. Bazine’s done an impeccable job, selecting pieces like a simple but sumptuous leather chaise and putting bookmatched marble on the backsplash in the middle of the glossy, smooth-faced kitchen cabinets. The dining table is lacquered, but there’s a tiny velour cushion on each chair that’s just the right hint of softness. It’s not Rey’s taste, but she can appreciate it.

Poe is right, though. The sculptures are beautiful, all rounded bowls and vases, their sides traced with gold seams where pieces have been broken off and put back together. But they don’t belong in this space where everything else is so sleek and modern. They’re too old, too textured, too imperfect. Instead of highlighting their forms, the rest of the apartment emphasizes their broken edges.

“Why is the art here if it doesn’t belong here?” Rey asks.

“Apparently it’s meant to go somewhere else. He told Bazine it would be gone by the time we came to shoot, because obviously she was freaking out about it, but there was some problem getting it there.” Poe shrugs. “I don’t know. It was kind of a blur after the yelling.”

“This is a nice portrait, though. Good for Beebs.” Rose has flipped to a shot of a man leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s wearing a dark suit with a pocket square that matches the velour cushions on the dining chairs, very master-of-this-domain, but his dark hair nearly brushes his shirt collar, vaguely bohemian. An interesting combination. Rose zooms in on his face, and the pixelated image resolves into piercing eyes—clearly still angry—and plush lips beneath a prominent nose.

“Not bad-looking.” Rose flips to the next shot, where he’s standing with one foot on a dining chair and his elbow resting on his knee, long legs dwarfing the furniture. 

Something pings faintly in the back of Rey’s brain. “What’s this guy’s name?” she asks casually.

“Ben Solo. Does something in finance. His mom was in politics, maybe? I didn’t google too closely. Bazine was really excited to get this job, though, so he’s obviously super rich.”

“Why would he care about collecting broken vases?” Rose asks. “If he’s in finance, he can probably buy some new art.”

“Ask Bazine. Or I can send you the story once the writer has filed it. They’ll have to ask about the collection since it ended up in the shots.”

“Can you send it to me, too? I’m curious,” Rey says.

“Of course you are, you budding artist. I’ll send it to everyone.” Poe takes his phone back. “Now that you’ve all heard my horror story, why are we here again?”

“We’re here to celebrate Rose!” Another pitcher of beer has arrived along with a few dishes of banchan, and Rey pours. “She’s going to medical school this fall, and I propose a toast.”

“Medical school? Didn’t you give all your money away?” Leave it to Finn to zero in on the logistics problem. It’s why he’s so good at managing properties and booking travel for his socialite boss.

“Well, yes,” Rose says. “But Rey has agreed to help me put together some financing.”

“Financing?” Finn gives both of them a pointed look.

“From a private investor.” Rey winks.

Finn sighs. “Who is it this time?”

“That’s why it’s our treat. Got anyone in mind?”

*

There’s a round of hugs at the subway entrance before Rey and Rose skip down the stairs to the turnstiles.

“What did you think? Any good prospects?” Rose asks, digging through her bag for her pass.

“Maybe. I don’t want to burn anyone too close to Maz, though.” They swipe through and come out on the other side of the metal grille that edges the platform. “I guess we can look at the other people in Poe’s January issue. Although—” Rey pauses. Seeing the metal fence made that pinging she’d felt at the restaurant get louder. Mentioning Poe’s January issue made it feel like something’s on the tip of her tongue.

“What?”

“It’ll come to me.” The train light appears in the tunnel, getting brighter, and just before it whooshes in front of the platform, a woman on the opposite side waves to someone on their side. It reminds Rey of herself, waving excitedly to Beau when they met up, and then the memory snaps into place.

“I saw that guy with the apartment,” she tells Rose.

“With the art collection?”

“Yeah. Ben. He was out running in the park when I broke up with Beau.” He’d been stretching out his legs against the metal railing by the water.

“A sign from the universe?” Rose asks as she leads them to a pair of seats in a corner of the subway car, where they can talk in relative privacy.

“It would be pretty easy to approach him at the park. Plus, he’s clearly rich and probably a jerk.” Rey scoots across, taking the window seat because she knows Rose’s stop is first.

“So he can afford it, and we don’t have to feel too bad taking his money.” Rose sits next to her as the train lurches forward.

“The art collection is interesting.”

“Lots of possible plays there.”

“And wiring the house.”

“Could be paranoid, could just be insecure. Either way, we could work with it.”

“And going off on Poe and Beebs like that.”

“So he’s volatile. I’m sure we could get him to make some bad decisions while emotional.”

Rey can’t help but smile. “Exactly what I was thinking. It’s good to be back in business.”

Rose smiles back and stands as the train slows for her station. “I’ll catch you later, partner.”

“I’ll do some research. Text me when you get home!”

*

Rey drapes a cloth over her latest painting—she can feel the eyes on her as she moves around the studio, definitely not working on her art—and sits at her work table with a cup of tea, her laptop, and a pencil and paper. Time to put together a little dossier on Ben Solo.

Three hours in private-browser mode give her an intriguing picture. He has a degree from an Ivy League business school, an important-sounding title at Finalizer Capital Partners, and a serious-looking headshot on their website, which makes lots of references to maximizing value and using an algorithmic approach to stay ahead of the market. She and Rose don’t have time to put together a startup, though, so approaching him professionally is probably out of the question.

What’s more interesting is the About Us section, which spins a tale of how Finalizer was founded by a Stephen Snoke, who led the company to success and then stepped back to “make way for the next generation.” It’s exactly like the script they’d written for the Kaydel transition at Eveles, which makes Rey think that something more happened behind the scenes.

She googles “stephen snoke sec,” which brings up news stories about Snoke’s years-long battle with the commission that eventually ended in his paying an enormous fine. It’s clear that he was lucky to avoid prison. As she skims, she spots a reference to another Finalizer employee who reached a smaller settlement but got away without having to admit to any wrongdoing.

She enters “ben solo sec” on a hunch, and this time she gets a piece headlined “Senator’s son settles with SEC in stock probe.” It’s not something she can hold over him—he wasn’t necessarily guilty of anything—but it shows that he’s made lapses in judgment before. Rey just has to figure out how to provoke them.

She makes a note, then starts researching the senator. It’s Ben’s mother, Leia, and even though she’s retired from politics, she’s still on the boards of a bundle of charities in the city. That’s wonderful, but Rey needs something more gossipy, like a Vanity Fair profile that lists how someone’s dogs eat only rare buffalo steak for breakfast alongside the fact that their aging father will only speak to his adult children and twentysomething second wife by postcard.

There’s a Town and Country piece that does nicely. Rey learns about “the early struggles that drove the senator to success,” namely that Leia’s father, Anakin Skywalker, was a respected financier who’d been charged with embezzlement, done time in federal prison, and had most of his assets—including “an art collection that was the envy of the rest of Wall Street”—seized and auctioned off. Family friends had sent Leia and her brother to boarding school, and Leia later credited her childhood experience with inspiring her to campaign for stricter regulations for the financial industry.

Rey’s takeaway, though, is the bit about the art collection. Ben had declined to be interviewed or photographed for the story, but there’s a paragraph that gives her a tantalizing little insight.

> “‘My family’s story is complicated,’ the senator says, leading me into the study of her home in upstate New York, where she’s currently writing her memoirs. ‘But I think I’ve found ways to honor my father, both in my work in the Senate and in the work I’m doing with a number of charities.’ She hands me a bowl that looks like it’s been broken apart and put back together with 24-carat gold as the glue. ‘It’s fitting that his art collection was focused on the Japanese art of _kintsugi_ , which is all about the beauty of imperfection. So I’d like to think I’m putting his legacy back together. My son was able to track down this piece and gave it to me as a reminder.’”

The government probably hired an auction house to dispose of the Skywalker collection, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get the records. Rey makes a note to call Unkar, her old boss at the gallery, about that. He probably should have been more of a stickler about the provenance of some of the art they sold, but he’s well connected and tenacious when he’s getting paid to do something. She can probably toss him a couple hundred bucks to get the records from one of his friends.

More importantly, now she knows the significance of the sculptures in Ben’s apartment. He must have figured out that some of them once belonged to his grandfather and bought them back. Which means that if Rey and Rose can figure out what was in the rest of the collection, they might have something to offer him. Something he’s willing to pay for.

She copies her notes into a to-do list that looks perfectly innocent—call Unkar, research kintsugi—and burns the rest in the alley behind her building. Then she texts Rose, asking her to call on her lunch break.

Rose knows Rey wants to talk about something that they shouldn’t put in writing. “What did you learn?” Rose asks as soon as Rey picks up.

Rey tells her about the settlement and Leia’s father. “I think Ben is putting his grandfather’s art collection back together.” 

“So he’d be willing to pay quite a bit of money if we had, say, a piece that once belonged to his grandfather.”

“Exactly. I’m thinking I’m the helpful art dealer, you’re the buyer at the other end of the deal?”

“You have the art background, and that way I can keep working at the clinic.”

“I’ll get going on the details. We can catch up over pizza on Friday?”

“It’s a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half of my brain: wow, so original, no one ever has made [this connection](https://www.inverse.com/article/61845-star-wars-9-rise-skywalker-kylo-ren-helmet-cracked-kintsugi) before  
> other half: idgaf


	3. The setup

“He said on the phone that it might be a little unfinished,” Rose says, rummaging in her bag for the keys.

Rey cups her hands against the window to peer into the gallery space. They’re renting it at a steep discount from an Eveles investor who also dabbles in commercial real estate. “Industrial chic, maybe? It’ll be fine once we get some office furniture inside.”

“Poe can always come by and zhuzh things up.” Rose twists the key, and they step inside the empty room, footsteps echoing on the polished concrete floor.

“Maybe an area rug or two? I’ve got a couple pieces I’m bringing, and I emailed Beebs to see if we could borrow some photos from one of their side projects. The lighting doesn’t look too bad.”

Tucked behind a wall at the back, there’s a counter with a sink where they can set up a coffee machine—Rey makes a note to pick up some nice china cups—and a bathroom that they can never let Ben see. That’s fine. The gallery is just window dressing, a backdrop for a couple of meetings.

“Did you set up the website yet?” Rose asks from the opposite end of the room, where she’s wrangling a measuring tape.

“I’m working on it. I’m using that domain I already have, so I just have to set up an email address.”

“The site you got in college? That was supposed to be for your art.”

“Yeah, and now I’m using it for your med school. It’s fine.”

“If you say so. We’re getting a computer from Finn, right?”

“He says Maz has a big one that’s a few years old. We can go get it when we pick up the clothes. Or have him courier it. Apparently she’s out of town for the whole month.” Rey takes out her phone and snaps a couple photos she can reference at home.

“She didn’t bring Finn to the Hamptons this year?”

“He told me that he told her he wanted to stay in the city. I think he likes staying in her house when she’s not around and using her fancy washing machine.”

“Fair enough. Have you seen enough? I’ve got dimensions.”

“I’ve got photos. Want to try that place down the street with a patio?”

“Lead the way.”

*

The first few days of Rey’s park stakeout are just her and her sketchbook, set up in a patch of grass by the bench where she’d met Beau. She’s filled in the lines of the railing, the water, and the buildings on the other side, so it looks like she’s doing some plein-air work and waiting for the light of golden hour to hit. 

But the real advantage of this spot is that she can see down the path in both directions. If Ben shows up, she’ll be able to see where he’s coming from and where he’s going.

He runs past three days in a row, stopping to stretch at the railing and glance at his phone, then turns back the way he came. The fourth day, he doesn’t show up. The fifth day, Rey brings a set of binoculars to see if she can get a better look at his phone. No dice; she can’t hold them steady enough. 

But now she knows that he’s here often. It’s better to approach him in a location like the park, where a meeting feels truly random, than to follow him back to his apartment building, where he might have his guard up.

The next week, she and Rose borrow a couple of Poe’s nicest cameras and camp out behind some bushes, pretending they’re in a photography class and hiding their faces behind the lenses. It’s a lot of giggling and rolling around in the grass, trying to get dogs to come over to say hi, until Rey spots a familiar pair of long legs. She tries to get a shot of Ben taking his phone out of the pocket of his gym shorts, but ends up with a memory card full of blurry photos of his ass, which she briefly admires before deleting.

“This is why I’m a painter,” she grouses to Rose. “You can just tell people to hold still.”

Rose, meanwhile, has cleverly set her camera to take multiple shots with each press of the shutter button—and actually knows how to focus—and gets a sequence of Ben taking out his phone, unlocking it, and declining a call from a contact labeled Mom.

“Ha!” she says, flipping through and zooming in on the shots. “It’s just like focusing a microscope back in my lab days.”

“I should have brought you along instead of the binoculars.” Rey twists onto her back. “Can you see his code?”

“I think so. We can narrow it down enough to give you a few guesses. See?” Rose shows her the sequence.

“I bet it’s 7-6-5-6.”

Rose snorts. “It can’t be that easy. I’ll bet you a bottle of wine it’s not.”

“You’re on.” Rey sits up. “If we’ve got the shots, I’ll go get my burner phone now.”

*

Rey’s email pings with messages from Unkar and Poe seconds apart. She opens Unkar’s first and skims past the usual complaining about how business is terrible since she left the gallery to the attachment. It’s a PDF of scanned printouts with photos and descriptions of each lot in the auction of Anakin Skywalker’s art collection. 

She dashes off a quick thank-you note in reply and then scrolls through. Even though the photos are grainy, she can tell the pieces are gorgeous—mostly oversized bowls and vases, a few small figurines, all shot through with gold.

The last page is clearly the highlight: what looks like a crumbling metal headpiece that’s been pieced back together with jet-black ceramic shards and traces of gold. She picks up her phone.

“I think we’ve found the prize,” she says when Rose answers.

“Tell me about it quickly,” Rose whispers. “I just came back from my break.”

“It looks like a helmet, but it might be a sculpture?” Rey starts. “It’s clearly military inspired, very weighty, but there’s also a certain delicacy, with the gold balancing—”

“Okay, okay, I love your enthusiasm, but let’s fast-forward through the art lecture.”

“Fine! It’s the most valuable piece in the collection.”

“And what, we’re going to weld one together in your studio?”

“I think I know a sculptor who can do it. I’ll email him this afternoon.”

“That’s all I needed to know,” Rose hisses. “I gotta go.”

Rey emails the sculptor—interested in a commission, could we possibly meet about it—and then opens the attachment that came with Poe’s message. It’s a draft of the feature on Ben’s apartment. She reads through the details of the materials Bazine used for the flooring, how difficult it was to select Mouse’s Paw as the color when painting the walls, how those are matching Hermès blankets on the living-room chaise and in the guest bedroom lounge area “to tie the spaces together.” 

There’s a quote from Bazine that’s highlighted: “The art lives here now, but the plan is to move it to a permanent home upstate, well outside the city.” Rey clicks on the highlight and a comment pops up. _Subject asks to remove. Does not want second house mentioned._

She calls Poe, and he answers on the first ring. “Are you working or checking your email?”

“I could be asking you the same thing. I have a question about the story. Thank you for sending it, by the way.”

“No trouble. Don’t send it to anyone else, though.” He lowers his voice. “I told the editor I needed a rough draft to mock up the layout.”

“I won’t. I just wanted to know about the comment about the second house. Do you know anything about that?”

“Possibly. Let me open it.” Poe hums under his breath while clicking around. “Oh, yes! You’ll like this. I mean, poor Bazine, but it was such a juicy little situation. Ben was happy with his apartment, so he hired her to work on his house upstate. The country estate, you know.”

“Rich people,” Rey says.

“Rich people,” Poe agrees. “Like I was saying, she told the writer, the writer put it in the story, and then apparently when the fact-checker went over the story with Ben, he threw a fit. So we have to take that line out. Oh, and Bazine is fired. She’s not working on his second house anymore.”

“Oh my god.” Rey has a moment of trepidation. One mistake, and Bazine was out forever. She and Rose might be playing with fire by trying to scam someone this unforgiving.

“I know! She’ll be fine, but what an asshole, right? Why agree to be in the magazine if you don’t want some publicity?”

“Totally. So what’s at the second house that he doesn’t want anyone to know about?”

“Bazine says she was working on displaying his art collection there. I guess he wants to keep it quiet until it’s done.”

“It’s smart, actually. If word gets out, he’s going to pay double for whatever he acquires.”

“Preferably to you.”

“Preferably to Rose! I’m doing this for her.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I try. Listen, I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks again for the story.”

“For you? Anytime.”

“And you’ll come take a look at the gallery when it’s finished, right? We could use your expert eye.”

“You know where to find me.”

*

Bob is one of Rey’s favorite artists. They’d met when he was showing with Unkar and she was still the gallery assistant. He’d thanked her for bringing him the perfect cup of tea, and they’d commiserated over the price of plane tickets back to the U.K. and the lack of decent chocolate anywhere in the U.S. 

He still sends her postcards whenever he goes to London for a show, and once he’d turned up at the gallery with a box of slightly squashed Cadbury’s, fresh off the plane, “just in case you were feeling homesick.” Assorted bars, because he wasn’t sure whether she’d prefer the fruit and nut or the plain dairy milk, and she absolutely had to try the new version studded with crackers.

As it turned out, that chocolate had cost him a small fortune, because he’d gone over his allowance when he came back to the States and still declared it to customs instead of trying to sneak it through like everyone else did. 

Bob likes to do things by the book. It’s like he has to be rigid in every other area of his life so that all of his creativity gets channeled into his work, the only place it’s allowed to run free. His sculptures are these incredible geometric forms that seem to melt into their bases, a juxtaposition that’s made even more striking by the blends of metals he uses—something that seems like it should be beyond what the materials can do. That’s also why Rey emailed him. Bob knows how to work with gold.

She’s set up a meeting at his studio, where Rose, playing her role as a would-be collector, will commission a replica of the helmet from the Skywalker collection. (Bob would be shocked if he knew the games Rey was running. As far as he knows, she’s a delicate English rose all alone in the American wilderness, and she wants to keep the chocolate supply flowing.) It’s a good chance to dress-rehearse the scheme for a sympathetic audience.

Rose meets her a few blocks away, teetering on heels and wearing huge dark glasses even though the sun is going down.

“I’ve lost my touch,” she says, struggling to pull a stiletto out of a crack in the sidewalk.

“You could pretend to be wobbling on purpose,” Rey suggests. “At least the shoes fit. Are those from Maz’s closet?”

“Yeah, Finn sent over a bunch of stuff by courier. We can go through it later.”

“All right. Are you ready to commission some art?”

Rose holds out her finger. “Let’s do it.”

Bob’s studio, in a loft where he’s been living and working since the ’70s, is like a historic house that’s been turned into a museum. Everything is from another era, and nothing is dusty. There’s barely any sign that he lives here except a kettle whistling in another room.

“Rose, this is my friend Bob. Bob, this is my friend Rose,” Rey says as he ushers them in.

Rose takes the chair Bob gestures to, then says carelessly, “Bob? I thought you said we were meeting someone else?”

“I beg your pardon.” Bob’s taken aback.

Rey rushes to smooth things over before Bob short-circuits on this breach of etiquette. “Silly me. Of course I told you we were meeting the sculptor known as C-3PO. But I know him as my friend Bob.”

Rose smiles apologetically and holds out her hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s a pleasure, Bob.”

He bustles off to fix tea for everyone, and Rey takes the seat next to Rose.

“Sorry,” Rose mouths. “I’m out of practice. I meant to be pushy but not rude. I’ll tone it down.”

“You apologized, so it’ll be fine,” Rey whispers back. “Bob’s just embarrassed about the name. He used it in a show right out of art school and now he’s stuck with it.”

They sip from souvenir china depicting various royal weddings while Rey asks after Bob’s family and his last trip to London. After they’ve made an appropriate amount of small talk, she broaches the subject of their visit.

“The reason I’ve brought Rose here is that she’s seen your work and would like to commission something very special. For your usual rate, of course.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly! You’ll get the special rate, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

“That’s too much,” Rey demurs. “Take a look at the piece first.” She pulls a few photos out of her tote, cropped so it’s not obvious that she’s pulled them from the PDF of the auction house catalogue.

Bob peers at them.

“I just love that it has those military lines, but the thin gold lines give it such delicacy at the same time,” Rose says, using Rey’s art-history-lecture lines from their call.

Bob looks up from the photos and stares at her. “That’s exactly it,” he says. “Incredible. And the piece is for you?”

“Yes,” Rose lies.

“It would be my honor to do this for you.”

“I’ll draw up some paperwork,” Rey says helpfully. “At your usual rate, Bob. We refuse to pay you anything less. You can only get started once you agree to it.” Hopefully it’s all coming out of Ben’s rather deep pockets anyway.

“All right. I’ll watch for the paperwork and set aside time in my schedule.” Bob shakes both of their hands. “Another cup of tea?”

“I’ll pour this time.” Rey collects the three cups and heads to the other room to start the kettle. They have a plan and they’re going to have a sculpture. The ball is rolling.

*

Poe squints and waves his hand. “A teensy nudge to the left. Your other left. Finn, help them before they drop it!”

Finn rushes over from the corner, where he’s been setting up the fancy coffee machine borrowed from Maz’s kitchen while she’s out of town, and grabs the frame of the canvas Rey and Rose are teetering under. They’re hanging some of Rey’s bigger works alongside the large-scale photographs that Beebs agreed to loan them, and everyone’s tired from hauling them out of the rental van and onto the walls.

The space is still industrial, but now it’s chic as well. Sleek chairs wait expectantly in front of the two mid-century walnut desks, and a jewel-toned area rug is spread out underneath a teak coffee table and a set of cognac-toned leather armchairs. All of it Poe’s vision, of course, rented from a staging company. 

A computer hums on one desktop, and a tiny sign in the window indicates that the gallery is open by appointment only, directing passers-by to the website Rey’s set up. China cups and little silver spoons sit ready by the coffee machine, there’s cream and sugar in the scrubbed-out mini-fridge that lived in Finn and Poe’s dorm room once upon a time, and Rey even remembered to stock the bathroom with lavender-scented hand soap and toilet paper, just in case.

The gallery is ready to open for its single client.

With the painting set on its hangers, Rey retrieves one last item from the mini-fridge.

“Finn and Poe, this is for you,” she says, hoisting the champagne bottle. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Finn says. “You still have to do it.”

“We meant the preparations.” Rose deftly pops the cork and starts pouring while Rey hands the china cups around. “Where else were we going to find someone to help us decorate an office and get wardrobes for an eccentric art collector and a gallery owner?”

“It’s our pleasure,” Poe says. “Just don’t take so much of his money that he has to give up that apartment. I need to be able to feature it in my January issue.”

“I’m sure that whatever they take, he can earn back by January.” Finn raises his glass. “Let’s toast to everyone’s success.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i just love logistics okay?
> 
> also:  
> it's not a home decor magazine story without a [farrow & ball](https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2019/03/18/the-luxury-paint-company-creating-a-new-kind-of-decorating-anxiety) reference. (this story is fascinating and, full disclosure, when i have a zillion dollars to decorate my house i'm totally shelling out for Elephant's Breath and Sulking Room Pink.)


	4. The approach

The park is crowded. It’s late, but the sun is still high, sparkling on the water with the promise of more hot summer days to come. Couples are entwined on blankets spread on the grass, dogs sniff each other while their humans try to untangle their leashes, and parents chase their toddlers as they wobble down the paths on balance bikes.

Rey’s behind a cluster of trees, tugging at the skintight shorts that she thought were too short and Finn and Rose pronounced just right. They’d also insisted that she leave the tank top with Rose and go out in her sports bra. She’s debating whether to loosen the front zipper just a little.

“Do either of you see him yet?” she asks over the phone.

She’s on a three-way call with Rose and Finn, wireless earbuds in so it looks like she’s just listening to music. Rose is lurking behind some bushes, watching for Ben to jog up so she can give the signal. Finn is pretending to stretch further down the path, waiting to hear from Rose. Poe is at the bar, waiting for them to be done, because Ben would probably recognize him as the would-be sculpture-scooter.

“Not yet,” Rose says. “It’s hard to see. There are a lot of people here.”

“Excuse me, miss,” Finn says. “You dropped your elastic.”

“Finn, be quiet!” Rose hisses.

“This woman dropped her hair elastic! What was I supposed to do, leave it there and not help?”

“You’re supposed to be paying attention.” Rey shakes her head, even though Finn can’t see. He’s being a good sport and doing them a favor, but it’s so much easier when it’s just her and Rose.

“I’m paying attention! I’m just nervous that I’ll—”

“Okay, I see him. Get ready,” Rose breathes.

Rey pinches her cheeks, so it will look like she’s flushed from running, and scoots the zipper down so it shows more cleavage. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Rey, start running.”

She takes off, finding her stride, listening for Rose’s instructions.

“Slow down a little. He’s tired today.”

Rey slows.

“That’s it. Phone out.”

Rey takes it from her waistband and keeps running with the burner phone clutched in one hand.

“Finn, start running.”

“I’m running!” Finn says.

“Good. Rey, do you see Ben? He’s in a black tank.”

“Yes.” It takes a moment to spot him weaving around the strollers on the path, but once she catches sight of his dark hair, it’s easy to keep track of him.

“Good. Finn, do you see Rey and Ben?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Ben’s getting his phone out. Go for it.”

Rey keeps jogging, watching Ben get taller and taller as he runs toward her. This is the spot where he always looks down—either checking his heart rate or changing the music, she couldn’t tell through the binoculars—and he’s paying more attention to his phone than to where he’s going. 

When she’s a foot away from Ben, Finn suddenly runs up behind her and catches her in the back with his shoulder. She stumbles into Ben.

The impact catches Ben completely by surprise, and he pitches backwards onto the lawn beside the path. Rey was expecting to bounce off him, but instead falls after him, throwing her arms out to catch herself so she lands with her chest above his face and her knees by his shoulders. Their phones go flying into the grass.

He steadies her with a hand on her shoulder so she doesn’t slam her head into his, and as his fingers meet her skin she feels the thrill she always gets at the start of the game. Now it’s real.

His eyes go wide. Good thing she unzipped the sports bra. He looks boyish, almost sweet, lying in the grass like this, caught off guard in the middle of his evening run with his cheeks all pink and his lips all red. Much softer than in the stern-faced portrait Beebs had taken, and much bigger in person than Rey had remembered. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and for an instant Rey has the urge to flick her tongue across the hollow where his collarbones meet and taste the salt.

But she has work to do. She scrambles off his chest, nearly kneeing him in the neck because he’s broader than she expected, and grabs his phone from where it’s lying on the grass next to hers.

“Can you believe that guy? What a jerk,” she says breathlessly. “I’m going to tell him what I think of that.”

Before he can reply or notice that she’s picked up his phone, she sprints down the path and ducks behind the bushes where Rose and Finn are waiting.

Rey holds up Ben’s phone triumphantly. “Got it. Rose, what’s the code?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “It is _not_ 7-6-5-6.”

Rey punches it in anyway, and the lock screen dissolves to a generic photo background of some mountains. “I believe the bet was a bottle of wine.”

“All right, let’s head to the bar. Poe just texted to say he got a table.” Rose fishes in her tote. “Rey, here’s your tank top and a hat. Finn, change into this T-shirt and sunglasses, and we’ll sneak out of the park.”

*

Rey stays for one drink. Rose has to go home—she’s opening the clinic in the morning—and Rey can’t stand sitting around chatting with Poe and Finn when she’s itching to sift through Ben’s phone for info she can use.

She sets herself up in her studio again, with her cup of tea, her real phone, and her notebook, and types the code into Ben’s phone. She taps the email icon and takes a photo of the screen, so she can remember which messages need to be changed back to Unread after she’s snooped in them.

He hasn’t done a very good job setting up his inbox. The first few pulls of her thumb bring up mostly daily deals and newsletters he’s subscribed to, heavy on the politics and finance. Boring. 

Getting impatient, she searches instead. “Skywalker” brings up a few emails he’d sent to galleries years ago asking about pieces from the collection, but after a thread where Ben accuses the dealer of jacking up the price because of his family connection, the search results taper off. She’s surprised he even mentioned his grandfather’s name at all, knowing it would put him in a weaker negotiating position.

Typing in “art” instead gives her 8,000 results, so she tries “kintsugi,” which gives her a more manageable 120 messages. Most are more of the same inquiries, and the threads eventually end when someone from the gallery suggests a visit in person to see if Ben is really interested in the piece. 

“Helmet” brings up a few receipts for bicycle helmets he’s ordered online, 50 unread messages about deals on bicycle helmets he could order online, and two messages about the actual helmet: one to his mother, asking if she remembered that particular piece from his grandfather’s collection (she did), and one to the auction house, asking if they could tell him who bought it (they wouldn’t).

Rey breathes a huge sigh of relief. He doesn’t have the helmet and he doesn’t know who does. She makes a note to send Bob the paperwork, giving him the go-ahead to start on the replica. 

She’d been hoping to find out what Ben paid for some of the other pieces so she knows what kind of price the helmet can command, but there’s time to do a little more research. Or, if she’s wily enough, she can get him to throw out a number first.

The deleted items folder looks like more of the same, but Bazine’s name pops out with the subject “another chance.” It’s a heartfelt note where Bazine apologizes for mentioning Ben’s house upstate to the writer and pleads with him to let her finish the project.

Even more interesting is the P.S.: “Please let me apologize again for sending that photo. It was an accident and I’m really embarrassed.” Rey switches it back to Unread, covering her tracks, and opens Ben’s texts, wondering if the photo’s there.

Bazine was certainly attentive. Or maybe Ben was just a very particular client. Rey flips through 20 photos of different fabric swatches, presented for his approval, and about 30 more of bathroom light fixtures. It’s in the batch of pictures of nightstands that she spots what must be _the_ photo, as immediately obvious to her as it must have been to him.

It doesn’t show Bazine’s face, but it shows a lot of her body in a lacy lingerie set, reflected in a full-length mirror. It’s not what an interior designer would send her client unless she was providing some additional services.

Rey scrolls to see what happened after. Ben had waited until the next morning and then texted back: “I’m not interested in any of these.”

If Bazine had sent the photo by accident, it would have been a relief to have it ignored. But Rey’s not sure it was an accident. It’s the kind of photo that takes 20 tries to get the pose right and 30 minutes of editing to get flattering lighting. Bazine didn’t just take it on a whim while in the middle of putting together her bedside-table options.

Rey knows because spent a whole afternoon taking similar photos of herself. If Ben looks through the camera roll on her burner phone—which should be easy, because she deliberately hasn’t password-protected any of it—he’ll find three of her lying across her bed, candle-lit and decked out in her only fancy lingerie, breasts pushed up and face carefully tucked behind the swing of her hair, sprinkled in amid shots of artwork that she’s supposedly selling.

It never hurts to offer herself as a way to sweeten the deal, especially if she never has to deliver. Just to see what he’ll do. She’s never had to sleep with a mark—would never—but most of them thought it was a real possibility.

Before she wraps up, Rey peeks into his camera roll. There are a couple shots of sculptures he’s bought, which she recognizes from his emails to his mom, and a few of his apartment, both empty and fully decorated. Rey suspects those were also sent to his parents.

Her mouth drops open, though, when she gets to the shirtless photos. He’s in front of a mirror with loose pajama pants tied low enough to reveal the muscle angling down from his hips. His torso fills the frame, the hollows between his abs pooled with shadows from the uneven lighting in what looks like his bathroom. It cuts off right at his shoulders, high enough to show that dent between his collarbones she’d thought about licking earlier. 

She wonders if it’s still dewy with sweat or if he’s in the shower, water running all the way down his chest, channeled down to his legs by muscle, or if he’s already clean, his skin damp and warm and fresh-smelling.

For a few minutes Rey sips her tea and lets herself regret all the times she and Rose had gone after rich kids and old men, when they could have been focusing their attention on _hot_ rich men. She could have had so much more fun turning up to lunch meetings and admiring the slope of their shoulders in their suit jackets, walking into “let’s do drinks” to see their ties loosened and shirts unbuttoned at the throat. Enjoying some eye candy rather than just being it.

She keeps flipping, examining the rest of the shots, where he experiments with holding the phone at different angles. Then she sees the date stamp and tabs back to the text thread just to be sure. 

He took them the same evening that Bazine sent her photo, but never sent them. He could have simply been curious, wondering how his own body would look in a photo like that. Bazine could have texted him while he was in the middle of setting up a profile on a dating app. Even though it doesn’t look like he has any installed.

Or it could mean that he was willing, if only for a few minutes, to turn a professional relationship into something else. That he can be tempted. Lured into bad decisions.

Rey finishes her tea and she calls Rose to tell her what she found. It’s time to get in touch with Ben and offer his phone back.

*

**555-1234:** I think I have something you want

He starts typing a reply right away, which makes Rey think that he got curious and started snooping through the texts and emails she’d planted on the burner.

**555-6789:** This isn’t my phone  
Do you know whose it is?

**555-1234:** It’s mine  
I have your phone  
I just borrowed my friend’s phone  
I’m going to call my number, OK?

He answers after the first ring, and she has to pause to swallow before replying. His voice is lower than she’d expected, even across the tinny phone speaker, and it gives her a little pulse of uncertainty. It’s going to be hard to pretend to sell him a sculpture if she has to constantly tamp down her attraction to him.

She crosses her legs and sits up straight so she can focus and not think about the way his mouth is shaping every word he says to her. “Hi. I think I picked up your phone by accident after I fell on top of you at the park.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Having your phone taken?”

“Having you on top of me.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Fair play to him, though; she likes a man who knows what he wants, or at least knows how to deal with them. 

Rey stretches back in her chair. This will be a breeze if he’s already this interested after one glimpse down her shirt. She can sell him anything as long as she wears a low-cut dress. “Maybe we should arrange for me to run into you again? I’ll bring what I have and you can decide if you want it.”

“I’m open to making a trade.”

“I think you’ll find me very open-minded, too.”

“How about the coffee place at the north end of the park?”

“I’m also very flexible.” She puts her feet up on her table.

“How’s tomorrow morning? I do need that phone.” He sounds almost regretful.

“At 7:30? I like an early morning rendez-vous,” she volleys.

He returns. “Do you? Sometimes I find it’s hard when I get out of bed that early.”

“Is it hard? I might have some solutions to that problem.”

“Lucky me, running into such a clever woman.”

“Clever from head to toe. I’ve been told I have a particularly smart mouth, too.”

“Speaking of head to toe, what are you wearing?”

“A very soft little robe,” she lies, imagining the way his eyes would burn if she stood before him and slowly unwrapped herself from the hypothetical robe, “and very little else. I’ll be in a blue dress tomorrow, though. You?”

“A suit.”

“With a tie? Those always come in handy.”

“It’s true. You can use them to keep from seeing sinful things,” he says. It’s his voice that’s the sinful thing here, she thinks. With the whole expanse of his chest to rumble around in.

“You can use them to keep bad girls from getting away,” she says.

“You wouldn’t try to get away, would you?”

Probably not from him. “I’ve managed to wriggle out of a number of compromising situations.”

“I’m shocked to hear that you’ve been so bad.”

She could swear his voice drops even lower on bad and has to swallow again before she says, airily, “Don’t be. Haven’t you taken a look through my phone?”

He pauses. “Of course not.” He definitely has.

“Well, do. The photos should help you recognize me.”

“I’ll study them very closely.”

“That’s a good boy. There’s going to be a test. See you in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically facesitting, just non-erotic! (i'm so sorry / i pinky swear that they bang eventually)


	5. The build-up

Rey orders two coffees and plants herself at a table by the window of Got the Brews to wait for Ben. Offering him something first means she’s the giver, he’s the taker. She pulls out her notebook and pretends to sketch while watching for him to shoulder his way up the sidewalk so he doesn’t see her on her real phone. It’s showtime.

Even before he flings open the door, his eyes are roving over the cafe, looking for her blue dress. She lifts hers expectantly and points to the chair across from her.

“I’m Rey,” she says as he settles into the seat. “I realized we didn’t exchange names, so I wasn’t sure what to call out to you.”

“How do you spell that?”

“R-E-Y.”

Something flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away and nods. “I’m Ben.” He shakes her hand. “Feel free to call it out anytime.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I hope it will be.”

“Here, this is for you if you want it.” She pushes the second coffee toward him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Did I have a choice? I do need my phone. Unfortunately.”

She holds up her hands innocently. “Of course you had a choice. I should have made it clear I’m only into consensual activities. We can stop anytime if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable.” He takes a sip of coffee without breaking eye contact and makes a little noise of satisfaction in his throat. “The coffee isn’t bad. Neither is the company.”

“I take that as a compliment, since we just met.”

“You’ve nearly fallen on my face. I’ve looked through your phone. I think we’re old friends now.”

Time to suggest the next step and see if he bites. “In that case, I think you should come to a party tomorrow night. Just a little gathering of old friends.”

His eyes spark with interest. “Let’s trade phones and I’ll put it in my calendar.”

She slides his phone across the table. “Let’s trade numbers while we’re at it. Put it in.”

He pulls her phone out of his jacket pocket and holds it out. Rey has to use both hands when texting, but his palm dwarfs the screen. “Come again?”

“I usually do.” She winks and pushes her phone and his hand back toward him. “Put your number in my phone.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll text you the details for the party. Unless you’d prefer a call.”

He shrugs. “I’m easy.”

“I like that in a man.” She really does, especially in a man who looks and sounds like this. But she’s nearly finished her coffee and needs to wrap things up. Leave him wanting more.

Ben hands her phone back and she double-checks his number is there. Then she lets her face fall. “Is it really that late? You’ll have to excuse me. I’m going to be late for an appointment with a client.”

“You’re excused this time. We’ll see about next time.”

“Next time I’ll be a very good girl and not run off.” She slips her phone into her tote and stands. “I’ll be in touch, Ben.”

*

Rose calls Rey back on her lunch break. “How did it go?”

“Better than I expected. Do you have time to hear about it?”

“Yeah, I’m on lunch. Just let me go down the street a little. This youth group came to protest outside the clinic this week and they’re all fired up. It’s like some kind of gross field trip for them.”

“See the city, shame some women?”

Rose sighs. “More or less. Spend their summer vacation driving 12 hours in a van that smells like Doritos. Okay, I found an empty bench. Let’s hear it.”

“We met for coffee this morning, we traded phones back, I’ve got his number, and I invited him to a party tomorrow night.”

“So we need to organize a party tomorrow night.”

“I already texted Phylls to give her the heads up. She says she can throw something together at her place. It might just be us and a bunch of music people, but I don’t think that matters.”

“We owe her one.”

“I’ll get a couple bottles of something nice—one from me, one from you. Oh, and I’ll make a note to send her some flowers.”

“We could offer to pay for the cleaners to come after the party?”

“I’ll ask. I think she pays for them to come once a week regardless.”

“Okay. Thanks for taking care of that.”

“It’s no problem. I know you have things to do at the clinic and zero time to plan a party.”

“It’s true. How did the rest of it go?”

“That’s what was better than I expected. I think he’s interested. When I called about trading phones, he asked what I was wearing.”

“So you admit I was right about the sports bra?”

“Clearly it didn’t hurt to flash a little skin at him.”

“Are you still okay doing the flashing? You don’t have to. We can just play up the art. Keep it professional.”

“It’s more exciting this way. Plus I’m single now.”

“We can figure out another way for you to get attention from a man. I’ll help you make another dating profile.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m tired of his attention. I should have taken a screenshot of the shirtless photo from his phone. Then you’d understand.”

Rose sighs again. “If you’re willing to go to all this trouble just because he did some crunches, I won’t stop you.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not going to any trouble. I just sit there and banter with him, and he loves it.”

“What happens when he wants to do more than banter? How are you going to turn him down?”

“I’m not going to turn him down.”

“Rey! You can’t! We’ve never slept with anyone as part of something.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s really not.”

“Just look at him at the party and then tell me you wouldn’t if he offered.”

“I’ve seen him in person, but I’ll take another look. Why don’t you come to the clinic so you don’t have to call him in three months to say he’s got chlamydia?”

“Might not be a bad idea.”

“I’ll book you in. Is there anything else I should know?”

“I’ll call you tonight if I think of something. Go tell some teenagers to get off your lawn.”

Rose laughs tiredly. “I was going to go full witch and chase them away with my broomstick.”

*

When they were all in college, Phyllida spent more time in the practice rooms than she ever did in classrooms. Rey would go to parties with Finn and Poe and stumble home at dawn; Phyllida would take off for open-mic nights with her guitar strapped to her back and a determined look in her eye.

At least Phyllida’s evenings were time well spent. After graduation, she wrote and recorded “My Love Is Like a Laser Beam” under the better-for-a-pop-star name Phasma, and it became the song of the summer, the soundtrack to at least 10 viral videos and the hook teased in radio promos after each commercial break. 

She chopped and dyed her hair, laced herself into increasingly outlandish outfits, hastily turned a notebook of lyrics into an album at the behest of her label, and rode a tour bus around the country to promote it.

Now she’s living her best life. She cares about her music—why else would she have sent a two a.m. email from the recording studio anxiously asking her friends if they thought the PEW PEW laser sounds in the chorus of her single were okay—but she’s rich enough now that she doesn’t have to. She has a closet full of 3D-printed breastplates, see-through vinyl skirts, and dresses made of plant leaves stitched together, all of which she wears like they’re a pair of jeans, head tossed back and a nothing-to-see-here expression on her face.

Most importantly for Rey and Rose’s purposes, Phyllida is extremely generous with her less-than-famous friends. When they were younger, she’d throw parties in her renovated brownstone with bowls of the birthday girl or boy’s intoxicant of choice on the tables where other hosts would put out chips. (That stopped after Finn intervened and convinced her it would be better to invest that money on a pied-à-terre in Paris where they could all stay.) 

She talked Eveles up to all the retired record-label executives she knew. She constantly tries to get Rey and Rose to borrow her couture, no matter how many times they tell her it’s too over-the-top for daytime.

And now, less than 24 hours after Rey messaged asking if she could just possibly throw a little soiree this weekend, Phyllida has streamers in every doorway and a stack of liquor cases in her kitchen. 

“Who’s the guest of honor tonight?” she asks as they open boxes and start shifting beers to the fridge in the butler’s pantry.

Like Finn and Poe, Phyllida doesn’t ask too many questions about what Rey and Rose are up to, telling them it’s easier to help if she doesn’t know all the details. So Rey’s going to give her the bare-bones version of their plan.

“Ben Solo. He’s in finance, his mom was a senator?”

“Oh yeah, I think I met her when I did the benefit for that charity this winter. Or was it the year before? They all run together.”

“I met him in the park a couple days ago. He seems fun.” This is only true in that it’s fun for Rey to flirt with him, but if Phyllida thinks he’s fun, she’ll treat him that way.

“Are you trying to get him to invest in something?”

“I think Rose has a sculpture that he might be interested in buying. But he doesn’t know that yet. I’m trying to make a deal. Rose is an eccentric collector too busy to sell it herself.” Too busy working at the clinic, but it’s also better that Ben doesn’t know that.

“I won’t mention it.”

“Well, you can talk to him about art. Or let him know about my new gallery.” Rey slots beers onto a shelf in the fridge and fishes in her back pocket for one of the business cards she’d had Poe design. “For all your artistic needs.”

Phyllida whistles. “Very nice! Poe did this?”

“He does all his best work for me.”

“I’m still mad the label made me use someone else for my album.”

“I think he understands. Anyway, he said he’d show up, and I told Ben he could bring friends if he wanted. Finn can’t make it.” In fact, Rey told Finn not to come in case Ben recognized him from the park.

“Oh, that’ll be nice. I’ve got my band coming, a few people from school, and some people from—” she waves her hands vaguely—“you know, the industry.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I’m a pop star with money to burn?” Phyllida laughs and stomps on the empty boxes to flatten them. “My beautiful friends said to throw a party, so I did? Come on, I think we’ve done enough here. Let’s go through my closet and find you something to wear.”

*

Ben texts to say he’s nearly there, so Rey opens the door to find him on the stoop with a red-haired man that she immediately recognizes as Armie Hux, a trust-funded congressman’s kid she and Rose had talked into paying for their trip to Europe several summers ago.

She wills herself not to sweat into Phyllida’s crepe de chine cocktail dress. It should be fine. He seemed happy to pay. It could even be to her benefit; if Ben trusts Armie, and Armie trusts Rey and Rose, then Ben should trust Rey and Rose in turn.

“Ben, so glad you came,” she says—without a wink, because Armie’s there. “Armie, oh my god, it’s been years! I told Ben this was a party for old friends, but I didn’t think I’d get to see _you_. How do you two know each other?” She leads them into the living room and the thick of the conversation buzzing over Phyllida’s playlist.

“Rey, hi! It’s so good to see you!” Armie actually gives her a hug. “Ben’s mom and my dad were campaigning at the same time. We met at some boring dinner for donors and got into trouble together.”

“We lit some napkins on fire and put them in a dumbwaiter to see what would happen,” Ben supplies.

“What happened was that I got grounded forever.” Armie grimaces.

“How naughty of you,” Rey says lightly. She waves across the room. “You probably recognize Phyllida. And you remember Rose, right?” 

Of course Armie does. His eyes light up, and Rey suddenly remembers the night in Barcelona when she’d stopped to help a woman with her lipstick in the club bathroom and while she was gone Armie seized the opportunity to drunkenly profess his love for Rose, who was in the throes of a crush on a boy she’d met in Madrid the week before and unceremoniously turned Armie down. None of them had ever mentioned it again, and Rey still wasn’t sure whether Armie knew Rose had told her.

She lowers her voice. “Rose has changed a bit since you knew her before,” she confides. “She got some new hobbies. Don’t ask about the sunglasses. But I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

Armie doesn’t care. He goes over and starts chatting away to Rose with a sweet sort of enthusiasm, like they’re still in their early twenties and coughing at every drag on the cigarettes they think look cool and they can’t _believe_ the museum they’ve just visited.

Rey turns to Ben. “Rose and I went on a trip to Europe with Armie and some other friends a few years ago. Then Rose and I launched this startup, and we lost touch. I’m sure you know about work eating everything else up.”

He opens his mouth, ready to say one thing, then seems to change his mind. “I know all about eating things up, but I don’t think of it as work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I had no idea you were such a bad boy, though. Setting fires.” She clicks her tongue. “I hope you’ll be able to behave yourself here.” 

She beckons to Phyllida, who wafts over in a severely feathered tube dress that somehow makes her look like an angel instead of a prehistoric terror bird.

“You must be Rey’s new friend Ben,” she says. “Charmed.”

“Phylls, you look like you need a fresh drink,” Rey says, taking her glass. “Ben, stay here and tell her all about yourself. I’ll fix you something.”

*

Two drinks of her own later, Rey manages to catch Phyllida alone in the hallway by the powder room.

“Well? What did you think of the guest of honor?”

“Oh, I didn’t let him say anything. I told him all about how you’re such a wonderful friend who answers my calls day and night—”

“That was one time.”

“That one time mattered to me! Anyway, you’re also an art genius who wasted her time on this tech startup for years before finally opening the gallery we’ve always wanted you to open.”

The groundwork is laid. Rey just needs to plant the idea that Rose has some interesting and oh-so-valuable art she wants to sell. “You’re an angel.”

Phyllida smooths a feather that’s out of place. “I do look like it, don’t I?”

*

Rey’s in the butler’s pantry, stirring up what she’s promised herself is the last cocktail of the evening, when the light changes. She turns to see Ben’s shoulders filling the doorway, blocking her from the view of anyone else in the kitchen. 

Uneasiness tickles the back of her neck. She doesn’t actually know him that well—not after one phone call and one meeting in a coffee shop. Then again, the worst that happened was that he yelled at Poe and Beebs. She can handle yelling.

She gives him a smile. “Want another drink? I can do shaken or stirred.”

“We’re about to leave, but I wanted to talk to you first,” he says.

“Is this about our next rendez-vous?”

“It depends. Can you be discreet?”

“It depends how big your secret is. I can only take so much without making noise.” She leaves the drink and turns to face him.

“It’s not a secret. Just an inquiry. I heard you have an art gallery.”

“I do. I’d give you my card, but there aren’t any pockets on this dress.” Rey gestures to the deep V-neck on the frock so he’ll look at her cleavage. It only covers her ass because Phyllida is so much taller. “You have my number, though. Is there something in particular you need?” She lets her eyes drift to his belt, then back to his face.

“It’s something that might take a little persuasion. A little finesse.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it easy to talk me into things. Or out of things.”

“My friend thinks your friend might have a piece I’d be interested in.”

Bless sweet, unsuspecting Armie and bless clever, quick-thinking Rose. She must have given him the backstory they’d confected about how Rose had been collecting art and provided just enough detail for him to make the connection between her art and Ben’s interests. 

It’s better than Rey and Rose could have hoped. They don’t even have to suggest a deal to Ben. Armie—someone Ben already trusts—has done it for them.

“I suspect I have plenty you’d be interested in. You might have to be more specific.”

“All right. He says she has a sculpture of a helmet that’s been broken apart and repaired with gold.”

“Kintsugi style?” She says it to get his reaction.

He can’t hide the flicker of interest in his eyes. “Yes.”

She pretends to consider. “It never hurts to ask. Discreetly. Then I’d have to convince her to sell.”

“If you can get your hands on it, that’s a deal I might be very interested in doing.”

“Oh, I’d want to get more than my hands on it.” She tips her chin down and glances up through her lashes. “What exactly would you be doing? Cash?”

He considers. “I was thinking a trade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my love is like a laser beam  
> so hot it cut my heart in two  
> so bright i gotta look away  
> and i'm aiming it at you (pew pew)
> 
> [the build-up](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Confidence_trick): “the victim is given an opportunity to profit”


	6. The negotiation

Morning sun streaming through the windows has already warmed up the gallery when Rey walks in. Her meeting with Ben and Rose won’t start for another 15 minutes, but she wants the time to think. The scheme is going better than she’d expected; she was prepared to be the one suggesting the art deal and moving things along. Still, it would be nice to capitalize on that.

She leaves her heels under her desk and goes to switch on the coffee machine and the air conditioning, giving the cream in the mini-fridge a tentative sniff. Phyllida texts a photo of herself with a mimosa, captioned _Drinking last of party champs! Thanks for coming over x_. Rey’s about to text back when Ben’s dark head pokes above the parked cars across the street. She tosses her real phone in a desk drawer, slips her shoes back on, and goes to open the door for him.

“You’re early.”

“I know. I wanted to see what else was on offer in your gallery.” He steps in and looks around, assessing.

“I’ll get you a coffee while we wait for Rose,” she says, heading to the back. “Let me know if you see anything you like.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Rose has her own set of keys to the gallery, but she’s waiting outside when Rey comes back with the coffee, pretending that she needs to be let in. She’s decked out in a turquoise tweed suit Finn dug out of Maz’s closet, the width of the shoulder pads rivaled only by the dimensions of her face-obscuring sunglasses. They settle in the lounge area, and Rey opens the meeting.

“Ben, I know you probably have to get to the office, so we’ll make this quick.” Nothing like a little time pressure to spur people to make a decision. “This is the piece you’re interested in?” Rey pulls out her sheaf of photos for him.

The expression of surprise and happiness on his face as he looks at the helmet thrills her. She’s read him so well, managed to figure out exactly what he wants. “That’s right. I’m willing to make a trade for it,” he says.

Rose lowers her sunglasses and peers at Ben. “What kind of trade? I expect a fair deal.”

Rey pretends to soothe her. “I’m sure we can work something out that will be more than satisfactory.”

Rose sits back and folds her arms. “If not, I won’t sell the piece. I’m sure I could find someone else to buy it.”

Ben tosses the photos down and leans forward over the coffee table. “What do you even know about that piece?”

Rose sniffs. “Plenty. And it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to know anything about it. I just own it.”

Ben’s jaw twitches. “I’ve dealt with collectors like you before. People with too much money and not enough taste, who don’t realize what they have.”

Rey’s phone buzzes on the table, but Rose ignores it and keeps pushing. “I’m perfectly capable of realizing that I have something you want. If you keep insulting me, my price is only going to go up.”

Ben huffs in exasperation and glances at Rey. That’s good. He’s looking to her for help, wanting her to fix this for him.

So she does. “Let’s take a deep breath,” Rey says. “I’m sure we’re all heated because it’s warm out today. Now, Rose, I think you should at least listen to Ben’s offer. I’m sure it will be more than fair.” She gives him a pointed look.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll offer another piece of similar value from my collection in exchange for the piece from yours.”

“I’ll need to see it,” Rose says petulantly. “I won’t accept a trade without looking at what I’m getting. Up close and in person.” 

They need to be sure they’re getting a piece they can turn around and sell. She can’t send an old teapot, however gorgeous, as tuition payment.

“Ben, is there any chance we could arrange that? You could select some pieces and I’d have them brought to the gallery? Or—and I know this is a bit unorthodox—Rose could come to you and look at them?” Rey widens her eyes, looking anxious. Her phone, her fake phone, buzzes again on the coffee table and she silences it without breaking eye contact.

“You want to come see the collection at my apartment?” he asks. His jaw is tight but his eyes are interested. Rey guesses that he’s open to the idea—he’d just agreed to the photo shoot, so the apartment isn’t totally off-limits—but not convinced just yet.

Rose smiles. “Now we’re getting somewhere. I would like that very much.”

That does it. “All right. I’ll look at my calendar and suggest a few times.” Ben shakes Rose’s hand, then Rey’s, letting his fingers trail across the inside of her wrist, making her stomach jump. “Thanks for the meeting.”

Rose walks out the door with Ben, then strolls around the block and comes back to debrief.

“It’s kind of a pain that he wants to do a trade instead of giving us cash,” she says, taking her sunglasses off and rubbing her temples.

“I know. A whole extra step. But everything else went easier than I expected.” Rey kicks off her heels, letting them fly across the room.

“Not to be crude, but I’m just going to say it. He definitely wants to fuck you.”

“I know! I told you.”

“I believed you, but it’s so obvious in person. He couldn’t even shake your hand without fingering your arm. I’m surprised he didn’t get here earlier so he could catch you alone.”

“Now you’re being crude. Maybe I’ll let him catch me alone when we go to his apartment.”

Rose considers. “That’s not a bad idea. Let him feel like he has some power on his home turf.”

“Give him a taste of victory.” As she says it, Rey’s phone buzzes a third time.

“Do you need to answer that?”

“I guess so.” Rey picks up.

“Hi, Rey?” It’s a man’s voice, but not Ben’s. No one else would have this number unless they googled it or walked by the gallery and wrote it down.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Armie.”

“Armie, hi!” she says loudly, for Rose’s benefit.

“I found your number on your gallery website. Am I bothering you at work?”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

He clears his throat. “Well, Rose was telling me all about her art collection at the party, and it sounded similar to some of the pieces Ben has, so I told Ben that they should get together and talk about art, or whatever you do. But I was wondering if you knew whether she’d consider selling some art to me?”

“You want to buy art from Rose?” Rose, overhearing, rolls her eyes. Rey pushes. “What kind of piece did you have in mind?”

Armie’s voice falters. “Whatever she’s willing to sell?”

Of course. For a second Rey thought she could sell some art to Armie, then get him to talk her up to Ben. People get jealous and impulsive when they see their friends doing the deals they want to be doing.

But Armie probably just wants an excuse to hang out with Rose, so she’ll string him along gently. “I can tell I’m going to like working with you. I’ll talk to her and set up a meeting. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s great. No rush.”

“I’ll call you back on this number, okay?”

Rey disconnects and turns to Rose. “Do you want to sell some art to Armie, too?”

Rose sighs. “He’s very sweet, but I don’t have time to deal with that now.”

“You don’t have any more art to sell, either. Nice to see that he’s bounced back after you rejected him.”

“I was young and dumb and hung up on Julio, or whatever his name was!”

“Not to be crude, but I’m just going to say—”

“Don’t say it. Shut up. I have to go to work.”

“Aww, I love you, too. Have a good day at work, honey.”

*

Once the doorman has escorted them to the elevator and the doors slip shut, Rey and Rose clasp pinkies.

“Let’s visualize,” Rose says, shutting her eyes. “We’re going to walk into the apartment and see all kinds of priceless art.”

“Ben is going to offer you any piece you want in exchange for the helmet.”

“We’re going to pick the one that’s worth a million and I won’t end up with any med school debt.”

“That’s the spirit.” They swear and shake.

The doors slide open noiselessly to reveal Ben waiting for them in the foyer of his apartment. He’s dressed for work in a conservative navy suit, shoes on already, like he’s prepared to take on the world even though he’s still at home. Rey keeps her pumps on and revels in the way her heels clack on the marble tile. It’s a sound she associates with taking meetings and making money. With success.

In the great room, morning light beams directly from the sun into floor-to-ceiling windows, without other, taller buildings to intercept. It’s even more stunning in person than in the photos Poe had shown them, and for an instant Rey wishes she could paint in this light rather than in the cramped apartment she rents mainly because it’s cheap and she wants her savings to last. 

There’s no traffic noise, not even birds calling. Being this high up above the city is like being on another plane of existence. If the windows opened—which they don’t; the air in this building must be filtered five times before it’s deemed fit for the residents to breathe—she could probably hear angels singing.

If the apartment is stunning in person, the sculptures on the side tables are otherworldly. Rey’s captivated by the way the jagged edges have been made to fit together smoothly and has to resist the urge to crouch down to peer at them from inches away. The sunlight glints off their gold seams, making them look like they’re glowing from within. 

But the arrangement isn’t quite the same as it was in the photos. It’s not the same pieces. He must have moved some of them.

“Rey? Coffee?” He interrupts her reflection.

“Please.” She had some at home, but if he goes into the kitchen, she and Rose can talk in private.

Rose helps herself to a seat on the chaise. “Not very relaxed,” she whispers, looking around through her sunglasses.

Rey wonders if Ben ever relaxes here or if it’s just his residence in the city for show, and then remembers the house upstate mentioned in the article draft. He must have moved the rest of the art there, like he told Beebs and Bazine he would. Rey’s willing to bet that the really good stuff is there, if she and Rose could just get their hands on it.

She takes a seat across from Rose and opens her mouth to whisper back, then remembers Poe’s warning. _He has the whole apartment wired for sound and video. He’d been keeping an eye on us ever since we got there_. 

She can’t spell it out for Rose or the mics will pick it up, and she can’t act it out like a charade or the cameras will.

“You know what the marble reminds me of?” Rey tries, thinking fast. “That hotel in Copenhagen where the staff was so nice.”

“When my purse got stolen from the bar, right?” Rose says. “And they let us look through their security footage to see who did it.”

“Good thing they caught it on video,” Rey says, darting her eyes to a corner of the room and lifting her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Wasn’t it?” Rose lifts her dark glasses and raises her eyebrows back, letting Rey know she remembers Poe’s story and understands.

Before Rey can somehow tell her about the missing artwork from the photos or the possibility that there’s more at the country house, Ben’s back with their coffees, passing Rey’s to her awkwardly so she has to place her hand in his, then setting Rose’s on the table. Rose notices and gives her a secret smirk.

Rey clears her throat. “Shall we? Ben, what are we looking at?”

“I’d be willing to trade any of the pieces in this room for the one you have.” He walks around, pointing them out. “This vase has some extraordinary craftsmanship on the neck. This bowl is one of my favorites. You can see where they’ve patched it not just with lacquer, but with ceramic shards from other pieces.”

He’s offering it too easily for it to be one of his favorites. The first rule of negotiating is to not accept the first offer. They need to push him.

“I don’t know,” Rose says. “I don’t think all those different patterns will match my wallpaper.” She slurps her coffee, too loudly for it not to be deliberate. A muscle under Ben’s eye twitches faintly.

“All right, not the bowl. But the vase is lovely, isn’t it?” Rey cajoles.

Rose tilts her head. “It just doesn’t look like it will fit any flowers. I like to be able to actually use the pieces that I own.” 

Ben clenches his jaw. “Flowers? You would actually put water in a vase that’s museum quality? That’s unacceptable.”

The way he says it is rude, but Rey kind of likes how protective he is of the art. It fires her up to think that some people just buy pieces to put in their bathrooms and splash with toothpaste. She wants to think that her own paintings are going to loving homes where they’ll be cared for.

“All right, not the vase,” Rey says mildly. “Maybe we could look at some other options?”

“Sure.” Rose shrugs dismissively. “I guess we can keep looking.”

“Actually—” Rey starts. She pauses and pretends to glance in her tote at her phone. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I’m so sorry, but it’s my doctor’s office calling. Just carry on without me!”

It’s either that or fake food poisoning and run off to the bathroom. Without waiting for an answer, she pulls out her phone, pretends to answer, and hurries down the hallway toward the foyer, ducking behind the wall that separates the two. Once she’s out of sight, she frantically types a text to Rose while talking to herself out loud, imagining her half of the conversation with the doctor’s office.

_has 2x house more art there do not accept piece now_

And, send! She jabs at the icon with her thumb and says goodbye into the empty room. If she’s guessed right, Ben will have made an excuse and is going to try to catch her alone any second now. Sure enough, his shoes pad down the hallway, and his head swings around the wall, closer than she expected. She jumps and he notices.

“I don’t scare you, do I?” His eyes challenge her, inches away.

“It takes a lot to scare me off. Were you too afraid to be alone with Rose?”

“I’d rather be alone with you.” He steps forward so the rest of his body is in the foyer with her and leans against the wall. She can smell the soap he must have used in the shower just before they arrived, even through his suit.

“Here we are. Alone. What did you tell her?”

“It turns out that I also had an urgent phone call. What did your doctor say?”

Rey wonders if he’s suspicious and testing her. Or maybe he just thinks she’s impolite. 

“She was giving me some test results. Apparently I’ve gotten away with all the dirty things I’ve done. Kept my act clean.” It’s not a complete lie; she had gone to the appointment Rose set up for her at the clinic. She just didn’t get the results right that second.

“It’s important to stay on top of your health. Physical, mental, sexual.”

“I do like being on top of things.”

He leans closer. Now she can smell coffee and cedar on the suit fabric. “But right now you seem to be beneath me.”

“It’s barely tolerable.”

“If this is your idea of bare, we might have a problem.”

“What makes you think we have anything?”

“Because when I get close to you, like this, you start breathing harder,” he says quietly. If she wasn’t before, she is now. Rey stands completely still, waiting to see what he does.

He bends toward her, one hand planted on the wall, looking first in her eyes, then at her lips. “I can almost see your pulse,” he continues in that low, hypnotic voice, letting it drop nearly to a whisper. “Right here.” He dips his head.

She lets out a tiny sigh of anticipation and stretches up, thinking his lips are going to land on her mouth, but he kisses the pulse point on her neck instead. It’s soft enough to tickle and teasing enough to burn. She shivers.

For a second, she has the urge to let him keep going. If she stands still, maybe he’ll kiss her on her lips, her neck, run his fingers up the insides of her thighs as far as he can reach under the snug skirt of her sheath dress. Then she comes to her senses and shakes herself.

“I can’t,” she mutters. “Not with Rose in the next room.” Not with every room lined with cameras and mics.

He turns his head away and sighs. “All right.”

“Another time.”

“All right,” he repeats, leaning back.

She catches hold of the wrist that he’d had resting on the wall. “When we have more time. Not before work.” It’s meant to reassure him, keep him from getting mad, but she’s surprised to find herself relieved when she says it.

“After work sometime, then.”

“I’m glad we agree.” She drops his hand. “Do you want to go back in first or should I?”

He moves out of her way. “After you.”

Rey tries to look composed when she rejoins Rose in the living room, but Ben was right: her heart’s still racing.

“Great news from the doctor,” Rey says brightly. “Sorry to run off on you like that! Where’s Ben?”

Rose pulls down her sunglasses and shoots her an are-you-kidding-me glare. “He also had an urgent phone call. From work. What a coincidence.”

“Oh. I hope whoever it was got their message across.” What she’s really asking is whether Rose got her text from the foyer.

“I think they probably did.” She did.

Ben strides back in, hair ruffled like he’s had to get himself under control. “Have you made a decision yet?” He sits across from them and looks at Rose expectantly.

“I thought about the pieces and I’m not willing to accept any of them.”

“So we don’t have a deal?” Ben frowns.

“The piece I have is clearly quite special, and I expect something equally special in return,” Rose says airily. “I just don’t see what I’m looking for.” Ben’s eye starts twitching again.

“I’m going to make another suggestion,” Rey ventures. 

She’s not sure how he’s going to respond to what she’s about to say. But she knows he’s already frustrated that they’re not half-naked in the foyer right now, and she thinks that if she can tip him into anger, she might be able to push him into a rash decision. Get him to trade more than he wants to for the helmet.

“I’ve heard that you have even more art at your second home. Maybe there’s something there that would be acceptable to Rose?”

His eyes darken and he clamps his jaw shut, leaning back in his chair like he’s disgusted by what he’s heard. “Everybody in the city has heard of that house by now. Bazine’s probably spreading the rumor about my grandfather, too.” 

“Now that you mention it,” Rey says, “I did hear something about your looking for pieces that used to be in a different collection. Was it your grandfather’s?”

Ben glowers. “You want me to tell you so you can take advantage of me? Up your price like everyone else does?”

“Come on,” she says, getting aggressive, poking the sore spot. “I don’t understand what the problem is. Clearly the helmet means something to you, and Rose is willing to make a deal. I think you should let us see what else you have to trade.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” He stands abruptly and points to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops! good thing rey still has seven chapters to fix the situation / get ben to kiss her for real.


	7. The trade

Rey lets Ben cool off for a few hours, then calls him at lunchtime. He’ll change his mind. He wants the helmet too badly. She just has to approach from a different angle. 

“What do you want now?” he snaps.

“I want to apologize if I’ve offended you somehow,” she says sweetly. Making him mad didn’t work, so now she’ll go the sugar-and-spice route. “I wanted to make a deal, not get kicked out of your apartment.”

“You told me you could be discreet.”

“And I can be. I won’t tell anyone else where your house upstate is.”

“What makes you think I’ll tell you where it is?”

“Rose doesn’t care about your grandfather’s collection. She’s not trying to take advantage of you,” Rey lies. “If she sees a piece she likes, she’ll trade you the helmet. It’s as simple as that.”

“I already showed you what I was willing to trade.” A door slams on his end, and Rey guesses that he’s shut himself in his office.

“You don’t have to give away anything you don’t want to,” she says, soothing.

He lowers his voice, even though she thinks he’s alone. It’s just for her, this deeper register. “Good. Because I’m used to taking whatever I want.”

“I think you’ve been clear about what you want.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to spell it out?”

“Aren’t you at the office? I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work.”

“I wish you would. I have a nice big...desk.”

“Am I meant to go on it or under it?”

“Both.”

“It’s a tempting offer, but I’d be more interested in a nice big...vase,” she says, pushing a little now that they’re back to lobbing come-ons. “I don’t know why you’re being so coy about whatever you have hidden away upstate.”

“You’re just after my art.” Ben’s still playing, which is a good sign.

Rey lowers her voice, trying to flirt her way into an invite. “Come on, Ben. I want to see everything you’ve got.”

“Do you?”

“I’m ready to be impressed.” She’s already imagined what’s under his suits, his running clothes, his pajama pants a hundred times.

“I think you already are impressed. That’s why you stood there this morning and let me kiss you.”

She shivers a little remembering it. “Try to aim for my mouth next time.”

“I knew it. This weekend? I don’t have time to drive all the way out there during the week.”

“How far are we going?”

“How far are you willing to go?”

“All the way.” She shifts back to her normal voice. “Just send me the address. I’ll set it up with Rose.”

*

“Here she is!” Phyllida says, beaming at Rey and Rose, and beckoning them inside the garage at the back of her brownstone. They look at the candy-apple roadster whose license plate shouts PHAST1, then at each other.

“Well, thanks for this, Phyl. We’ll fill it up when we bring it back,” Rose says uneasily.

“Her.”

“Er, yes, her. We’ll take good care of her. Anything else we should know?”

“Not much,” Phyllida says cheerfully. She pushes a button on the remote with a flourish that pops the doors and makes to hand over the keys. Then she pauses. “You’ve driven stick before, right? I wasn’t going to buy a car like this with an automatic.”

Rey jumps in so Rose doesn’t have to lie to their friend. “That’s what I learned to drive on.”

Phyllida smiles and hands the keys to Rey. “You’re all set then. Just use the remote to shut the garage door on your way out. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, my darlings!” She waves and heads across the yard to her back door.

Rey tries to hand the keys to Rose. “I’ve driven a stick, but I’ve never driven on the right side of the road.”

Rose pulls her hands away. “Don’t look at me. I’m not going to destroy the clutch so we can go upstate and wrangle a little more money out of this guy.” She tries to walk around to the passenger side, but Rey grabs her arm.

“Can we flip for it? Please, please, please, please?”

Rose fishes in her quilted leather cross-body for a minute, then throws up her hands. “I don’t have any change. Finn sent me this bag from Maz’s closet and none of my stuff is in it.”

“No snacks for the road?”

Rose smacks her on the arm with the bag. “Not even a spare lipstick. And no free condoms from work.”

“What makes you think I’d need those?”

“Ugh. Remind me to bring earplugs next time.”

“I already told him I won’t do anything when you’re in the next room.” Rey holds out a fist. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get going. Rock-paper-scissors?”

They shoot, Rose’s paper loses to Rey’s scissors, and they lurch off into the city with Rose at the wheel and Rey barking instructions.

*

Two-and-a-half hours of honking taxis and roughly 10 engine stalls later, they coast up the driveway at the address Ben gave Rey, in the same town as the house mentioned in Leia’s _Town & Country_ interview. Pulling to the front of what must be the house, even though it looks like four gray sugar cubes stuck together, Rose yanks the emergency brake, turns off the engine, and holds out the keys.

“Take these,” she says. “There’s no way I can drive back.” She pulls her heels out from under the seat, where she’d stashed them two minutes into the drive, and shoves them onto her feet. Then she leans her head against the steering wheel and laughs. “Fuck me, that was hard. I don’t care if you kill us on the way home. As long as I don’t have to pull away from another stoplight.”

“Deal.” Rey tucks the keys away. “If we die, we die together.”

“Okay, so we’ll look at the pieces, you’ll distract him for a few minutes, then you’ll come back and we’ll say yes or no?”

“That’s the plan. Take a few photos and text them to this number. It’s an expert I have on standby.” Rey holds up her phone so Rose can enter the contact in her own.

“And she’s on our side?”

“Let’s just say she’s being flexible for a small cut of the proceeds.”

“All right. I’m ready.” Rose puts her phone away and pulls out another giant pair of sunglasses—cat’s-eye today, with what look like rhinestones but are probably crystals on the arms—and sticks them on her face. “Let’s trade some art.”

Rey reaches for where she thinks the door handle ought to be, but her hand brushes smooth plastic. On the driver’s side, Rose pats the door frantically.

“Are we trapped in this car we can’t drive?” Rey moves her seat back and pulls up the floor mat. Nothing there.

“Why the fuck did Phyl buy this?” Rose groans. “I don’t even know what to google. Red sports car, door won’t open?” She flips the levers next to the steering wheel. Still nothing. She hits the steering wheel and the horn blares, making them both jump, but the doors don’t open.

While Rey’s rifling through the glove compartment, a door opens on the sugar-cube walls and Ben steps out onto the porch.

Rey passes the registration over. “You look up the model, I’ll hurry you along.”

Rose pulls out her phone and whacks the steering wheel a few more times, honking on purpose. She gestures with one hand like she’s having an animated conversation while googling with the other. Up on the porch, Ben folds his arms.

“Hey guys! Welcome to my channel! Today I’m going to show you around the—”

“Sorry.” Rose lowers the volume and fast-forwards. “The video description promised he was going to show us the weirdest door handle in automotive history but—” she checks the screen—“it’s fifteen minutes long. Fuck! I think Ben’s looking at us, too.”

“Just keep pretending to talk. I’ll deal with him later.” Rey makes a hurry-up motion at her, like she’s urging Rose to hang up so they can go meet Ben.

“Okay, okay, he says it’s one of these buttons.”

“On the dash? None of them have a lock symbol.”

“Hang on, he’s gone on a tangent about the radio controls.”

Ben unfolds his arms and checks his watch. Rey pretends she can’t feel his eyes on her.

“Apparently the sound quality is great,” Rose says, rolling her eyes. “And the button is unlabeled. Some great design here.”

Rey pushes everything without an icon, and finally, the locks click and the doors pop open.

“Finn needs to have another sit-down with Phyl about this car,” Rose says, putting her phone away. “What happens if you hit that button on the highway when you’re turning the volume down?”

“Text him after,” Rey says, climbing out. “We’re late.”

Crossing the gravel drive, Rey realizes the thrum of anxiety she’d felt on the drive up wasn’t actually fear that Rose would stall in front of an oncoming truck. More like anticipation, and it’s thrumming that much louder now that Ben’s moving closer to usher them inside.

“I’d welcome you to my home, but you invited yourselves here.” He flattens his lips, and Rey thinks of how they’d felt pressing hot against her neck. “The drive didn’t take too long?”

“It was a breeze,” Rose says, tripping through the door and not bothering to take off her shoes. “Hardly long enough for my phone call.” 

“I guess it wouldn’t take long, when you’re driving a fast one.” Ben gestures like he’s going to put a hand at the small of Rey’s back to help her over the step, but doesn’t touch her, and she flinches with awareness as his fingers ghost over the base of her spine. 

It’s surprising how observant he can be sometimes, noticing the pulse at her neck, Phyllida’s vanity plate. It will make it that much more satisfying when they pull one over on him.

Rey can see why Ben needed Bazine to decorate this place; it’s a shell of a house in need of blinds on the tall windows, logs in the fireplace, pottery on the built-in cupboards facing the entrance. 

As he points them into what will eventually be the living room, now littered with half-unpacked boxes and bubble wrap, though, she can also see why he would choose this place for his art collection. The lines are beautiful but simple, the craftsmanship quietly solid.

“I’d offer you something to drink, but the house isn’t really ready for visitors,” Ben says. “Which is why I was trying to keep it quiet.”

“So what am I looking at?” Rose says in a bored tone. She’s marched over and taken the only seat, an upholstered lounge chair still covered with a plastic sheet.

Ben walks past a stretch of floor-to-ceiling windows to the kitchen, where Rey can see a few pieces lined up on the island. Rose follows, heels clattering, making a show of brushing the dust from the plastic off another of Maz’s tweed suits, and Rey does, too, pausing to take in the views over a lawn that needs mowing to a row of pines and, in the distance, the dark flanks of the Catskills. There’s a pool at one edge of the lawn, and at the other, a rust-colored building whose curved sides bend around a grove of birches.

“I set the pieces up in here.” He leans against the cabinets that mirror the flat faces of the windows and folds his arms. “I’m willing to offer any of these.”

Time to distract him so Rose can text the expert. “Rose, I’ll give you time to look at these and make up your mind,” Rey says. “Ben, is there a powder room on this floor?”

“I’ll show you where it is.” Ben unfolds his arms and strides out of the kitchen. Rey follows, turning the corner, and starts when she finds him standing in the hallway, waiting for her to go first, once again closer than she expected.

“It’s at the end,” he says, and points to the door.

There’s another closed door on the left, though. She stops in front of it and puts her hand on the knob, turning to look back over her shoulder at Ben. Slowly, deliberately, eyes on his like a cat about to paw a full glass off a coffee table, she opens the door and slips inside. 

It’s an office—or it’s intended as one, with shelves lining the wall to her left and more of those floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall in front of her. Rey’s barely made it to the glass when she feels, more than hears, the whisper of the door swinging open behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing, wandering around my house?” He shuts the door—probably loudly enough for Rose to hear in the kitchen on the other side of the wall—and follows her across the room, as slowly and deliberately as she’d entered.

“You can’t blame me for getting lost.” She tosses her hair and turns her face back to the window. “I’m just taking in the view.”

“See anything you like?”

“I noticed another building over there. Want to tell me anything about it?”

“Like what?”

“Like if there’s any more art inside.”

“It’s a gallery space, but it’s empty.” Something like excitement is running beneath his voice, not just teasing, and Rey turns her head to see that, sure enough, his eyes have lit up. “I had the movers leave everything in here when they brought it from the city.”

“So the famous collection—excuse me, rumored collection—will live out here? It’s perfect.” She means it. It’s going to be stunning when he has it all on display. “The setting, the architecture, the light. It will really come together.”

He lets that entendre pass without making the double and seems to forget to be angry with her for bringing up the collection. “I just have to figure out where to put everything.”

“Well, if you need some ideas about where to put it, you have my number.”

He sidles up behind her. “Actually, I do have an idea I need your help with.”

“I told you nothing can happen while Rose is in the next room.” She promised Rose, so she’s going to have to stand firm, even if part of her longs to leave a full-body print on the glass from being pressed into it. It’s been weeks since she broke up with Beau and even longer since she’s gotten laid in any satisfying way.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” he says. She wills her face not to fall in case he can see her reflection. “Not today.”

“But?”

“I think we should go out to dinner,” he continues, still not touching her, just standing behind her, crowding her to the window. The glass is warm where the sunshine slants across it. “Just the two of us. What do you think?”

“Do you do this with everyone you work with?” She spins around to face him, resting her head on the glass as she tilts her face up to look him in the eye.

“Do what?” Ben smiles, probably thinking she’s about to detail all the things she wants him to do to her.

She’s not going to spell out her fantasies just yet, though. Not before teasing him a little more. She’s going to say yes—if her mouth doesn’t agree to it, her clit is going to crawl out of her body and go to dinner on its own—but he’ll be even more excited about it if he thinks he’s convinced her. “I’m just wondering what usually happens when you find bad girls wandering around your house. If you always deal with them by asking them to dinner.” 

He opens his mouth eagerly, like he’s got lots of ideas on how bad girls need to be dealt with and is ready to tell the class, but she puts a finger on his lips and keeps talking. 

“Like a certain designer who wasn’t very discreet. Very bad. I heard you fired her instead of taking her out. Didn’t she want to be taken?” 

She drags the finger across his bottom lip, pulling it away from his mouth until it snaps back. He holds very still and blinks slowly, letting her do it.

“Would you rather be punished for it?” he asks around her finger.

“I don’t think I deserve it. And I don’t want to get fired.” She gives him her best doe eyes. Usually men love the idea of an innocent face hiding as-yet-unplumbed depths of naughtiness. Especially when they think they’re the ones who’ll be doing the plumbing.

“Why don’t you just behave yourself then?”

“Oh, Ben. Why would I want to do that? It’s not any fun to be good all the time.”

“ _I’m_ very good. Most of the time.” He takes the hand that’s still hovering near his mouth and moves it back to her side, slowly stroking her forearm as he does. “It’s not that she didn’t want to go out. It’s that I wasn’t interested.”

“But you’re interested this time?”

He tightens his hand around her arm. “I thought I’d made that clear.”

“Maybe I haven’t been paying enough attention,” Rey says sweetly.

“You’d better be paying attention now.” He uses the hand on her arm to pull her closer and the other hand to cup her chin, holding it still so he can kiss her. 

She means to keep watching so she can gauge how she’s affected him, but it’s too much. She closes her eyes and lets herself sigh into his lips, opening her own to encourage him to slip his tongue in. If she focuses hard enough on how it feels—the heat of his mouth, of the glass, the near-boneless trembling of her legs atop her heels—maybe she’ll be able to recall every sensation when she’s back in her apartment in the city with her vibrator.

She tugs her arm out of his grasp, still pressing her mouth against his, and brings both hands to his waist, edging him toward her so she can sneak her fingers under his shirt. Eyes still closed, she pictures the smooth skin beneath the fabric, glad she studied the shirtless photos on his phone so intently. She tries to hike a leg around his waist so she can grind against him.

He lets go of her chin and grabs her thigh, shaking his head. “I told you nothing was going to happen today.”

“You’re such a fucking tease.” She tries to say it lightly, but her cunt is already throbbing, practically pleading with her to keep going, and it’s tormenting her.

“I’m not the one showing up in a short skirt and wandering into rooms I don’t belong in.” He slides his palm even farther up her thigh, carefully staying on the outside of her hip, almost cruelly far from her clit, and it’s all she can do not to whimper when one finger slips into her underwear and snaps the elastic. “Hmm. A short skirt and something very silky.”

“If you’re good at dinner you can see them.” She tries to pretend she’s not having trouble getting the words out or trying to shift so his hand will end up between her thighs.

His fingers still. “Does that mean you’ll come to dinner?”

“If you’re very good at dinner, you can come, too.”

He slides his hand out and lets go of her leg. “We’ll continue this after dessert then.”

“I look forward to it.” She wills her heart to stop beating so hard. “Should we go back to the kitchen and see if you have another deal?” 

Unless she moves this forward and gets herself back to the car, her resolve is going to crumble, and she’ll spend hours locked in here with Ben while Rose waits on the other side of the wall and feigns not having heard anything.

“After you.” Ben re-tucks his shirt.

Rey slips out of the room and rounds the corner, stomping her feet so Rose can hear her coming. Rose hops off the island, points to her phone, and gives a thumbs-up.

“You messaged?” Rey whispers. Rose nods. Then, in her normal voice, Rey says, “Ben was just giving me a tour of the house.”

Rose lifts her sunglasses to roll her eyes. “I had plenty of time to look over the pieces,” she says, matching Rey’s volume in case Ben is listening, “and I think I’m ready to make a deal.”

*

As soon as they’re back on the parkway heading south, Rey gets Rose to dial Bob’s number and put him on speaker.

“Bob, hi, it’s Rey, I hope you’re well. I’m just calling to check on that helmet.”

“Rey! Lovely to hear from you. How have you been?” 

Normally, Rey appreciates that Bob isn’t willing to rush through the niceties of life, but today she’s too excited by the swindle she’s about to pull off to hear what he’s been up to. She bites back her impatience and puts a smile in her voice.

“Just fine, Bob, thanks for asking. But the helmet? Can we look at it?”

“You want to look at it? Now? But you can’t!” Bob sounds panicked.

Rey taps the brakes, as though slowing the car will help her understand what he’s saying. “What? Why not?”

“Oh dear. I thought I told you. The lacquer can take weeks to set up.”

“It’s not dry yet?” Rey probably ran across that fact in her kintsugi research and forgot about it.

“I have to let the lacquer set and then I can start work on the gold,” Bob explains.

“So when will it be ready?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a week. Maybe two.”

“Don’t drive into a tree or anything, but we’re fucked,” Rose says as she hangs up. “We just made that deal with Ben and now we don’t have any helmet to trade him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me in ch 1: confidently labels this fic explicit  
> me in ch 7: heaps out yet another serving of PLOT
> 
> anyway here's [the house that inspired this](https://www.6sqft.com/take-a-tour-of-the-only-house-in-the-united-states-designed-by-ai-weiwei/). dreamy!


	8. The dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway after seven chapters here's 4k words of our heroine getting railed (...literally?)

Their giddiness evaporates after Bob delivers the bad news, and Rey and Rose drive the rest of the way back to Phyllida’s place in silence.

They’re walking to the subway to head home when Rose turns into a park and pulls Rey to an empty bench. “Listen, it’s okay. You tried, and I appreciate it,” Rose says.

“We’re not giving up! We’ve never given up halfway through.”

“He’s too sharp. We just told him we’d set up a meeting so he could see the helmet. We can’t put it off for a week or two, or he’ll figure out we don’t have anything to show him.”

“We’ve got him on the hook. He wants that helmet so badly that he let us come to his secret house upstate. We just need to distract him for a little while so he forgets about the meeting.”

“Rey, I said it’s okay. I’ll take out a loan.”

“You really don’t want to do this?”

“I’m just tired. I want to quit while we’re ahead.”

“You’re not having fun?” Rey’s more concerned about this possibility than that Ben will figure out they don’t actually have the helmet and call off the deal. She thought that Rose was just ready to try something exciting and different, like learning how to stay awake for days at a time while caring for patients. Not that she genuinely didn’t find their games entertaining anymore.

“You didn’t think we’d do this forever, did you?” Rose has taken off the cat’s-eye sunglasses she wore out to the house, so Rey can see in Rose’s eyes that she’s sorry.

“I’m not going to let you go to med school without one last hurrah.”

“I said it before. You need to find a different way to get your thrills.”

“I really think I can distract him until Bob has the piece ready.” Never mind that Rey is dying to try.

“That’s just it. We’ve never had to seduce anyone before, and now you’re going to do it so I can go to med school? You can’t.”

“I didn’t say that’s how I’ll distract him.”

“But it is.”

“But I want to. That’s the difference. Besides, you were the one telling me to flash some skin at him in the first place and going on about how much he wants me.”

“I didn’t think the flashing would work this well.”

“It’s working out great for me. We made this deal, my best friend is going to get the money she needs for med school, and I’m going to let him blindfold me with one of his ties so I can feel his abs. If that doesn’t do it, I can always tell him Armie made a better offer to buy us some time.”

Rose taps her chin, weighing this, then makes her decision. “All right. I feel like a dick letting you do this for me, but I’ll allow it.”

“Speaking of dicks—”

“Spare me. I’m not going to have time for them for the next 10 years. Just don’t let him blindfold you in his apartment. You don’t want that video to end up on the internet.”

“Good point. I’ll have to think of somewhere else to go after dinner.”

“You’re an imaginative woman. You’ll think of something.”

*

“I made a reservation for tonight at eight,” Ben tells Rey when he calls the next morning about dinner. “I’ll text you the address.”

“Change it to later,” she replies. Her imagination has come through with a very good idea. “I’ll meet you in the park at nine and we’ll go to the restaurant together after.”

“After?”

“After the park. Where we met.”

“Are we going on a run? Are you going to wear those little shorts again?” She has to give credit to Rose for how well the outfit worked.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” she says in her best low, seductive purr.

He drops his voice to match hers. “Aren’t you the one who needs teaching?”

“Not for this. But if you work hard, maybe the student will become the master.”

“I always work hard.”

“Always? You must have incredible stamina.” Her mind starts to wander into a fantasy about him sitting at his desk with a perpetual erection.

“Put that in your lesson plan.”

“I don’t want to spoil it, but part of the plan is for you to put it in me.”

“I hope there’s going to be a test.”

“I told you, my results already came back clean.”

“What a coincidence. Mine did, too.”

“In spite of all your dirty talk. See you at nine.” She hangs up, avoids the gazes of the paintings she hasn’t worked on in weeks, and goes to her bedroom in search of her vibrator.

*

Shadows are gathering thick under the trees, but the air is still soft and warm when Rey gets to the park entrance. There are only a few runners loping along the path and a couple rolling up the picnic blanket they’d spread out on the grass. It’s perfect for what she has planned.

She thought Ben would walk over from his apartment, but he climbs out of a town car in a full suit and waves the driver off. He glances around coolly, looking for her, then lets Rey see him drag his eyes up her legs to the hem of the wrap dress borrowed from Maz, into the dip of the V-neck, past the cleavage she’d carefully daubed with highlighter, and finally to her face.

“Come here often?” he asks, meeting her eyes.

“Coming from the office? You _do_ work hard,” she replies, letting him see her looking him over in turn. It’s a shame her plan doesn’t involve her actually getting to take off the pants that are just a shade too tight around his thighs, probably from all the running he’s been doing. 

But she won’t go back to his apartment and risk being videotaped, and she can’t bring him back to the apartment where she actually lives. She’ll have to make do with getting him to take off the jacket, maybe have him roll up his sleeves for a little peek at his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I know how to play, too.”

“This evening isn’t about playing, Ben.” She steps closer to him and traces his lapels with her fingertips, getting right into his space. “I’m going to teach you a very important lesson.”

He stands still and watches her hands, eyes crinkling at the edges with faint amusement. “How could I have forgotten. What lesson is that?”

“As you’ve noticed, I’m very good at being bad. Getting myself invited to places I shouldn’t be, looking in rooms where I don’t belong. Kissing men on the other end of deals I’m making, which is very unethical.”

“I had noticed that.”

“I think you noticed and I think you’re curious. I know you’ve been bad, too. Setting those napkins on fire. Having to settle with the SEC.”

His eyes register mild surprise. “You did your homework on me.”

“I like to know who I’m getting into bed with. But it doesn’t matter to me.”

He pulls his lips in like he’s trying to hold in a smirk. “I’ll bet it doesn’t.”

Rey lets go of his jacket and reaches up to brush his hair away from his face, slightly damp with sweat at the temples. “I think it’s more fun if you have a partner in crime.”

“And that’s what you’re going to teach me?”

“Looks like I have a very quick learner.” She holds out a hand to him. “We’re going to misbehave together.”

Ben takes her hand. “All right.”

Rey chooses the path that will take them through a little grove on the way to the water. She walks slowly, and Ben shortens his strides to match, just a dressed-up couple on their way to date night. Under her wrap dress, though, her heart’s racing and her skin prickles with excitement, and from the way he keeps shaking the wrist with his watch, she thinks he might feel something similar.

“First of all,” she says, “good girls and boys take each other out to dinner, and then maybe if they’ve had enough wine they’ll go for a stroll in the park, and then if they’re feeling brave they’ll invite each other over, and even then it might end in just a goodnight kiss.”

“But we’re not a good boy and girl,” Ben says, playing along.

“Exactly.” She stops them and ducks behind a tree. Any of the three runners still puffing along could see them around the trunk, but it doesn’t really matter. She grabs his tie and gently pulls his head closer.

“I can’t wait that long,” she confesses, honestly this time. “I’m already too wet to sit through dinner. What do you think we should do about that?”

He thinks about it while backing her into the tree. “If we were being good, I’d say you shouldn’t have to suffer. I’d offer to clean you up with my tongue.”

She shifts her hips into his hands. “But we’re not being good.”

“No.” He reaches around to her ass, squeezing tighter than she expects and making her gasp. “Which is why I think I should make even more of a mess of you. I think I should see if you can get even wetter.”

They’ve barely even touched, and Rey feels like she’s on fire. It’s not going to take very much to get her even wetter. “How would you do that?”

“How would you want me to do it?”

There are too many ways to count. But she says, “I think it would be very bad if you fucked me and then took me to dinner. I’d have to sit there with your come dripping out of me.”

Even in the dusk, she can see his eyes darken. “I understand the theory. Can we move to the hands-on part of the lesson now?” He tugs lightly at the knot at her waist, nearly undoing it.

Rey takes his hand again and pulls him further along the path, away from the park entrance and the streetlights. The families with dogs have all gone home, and she can only see one last jogger circling. “We can, but over here,” she says. “Where we won’t get caught.”

She goes to the metal railing that runs along the water, still warm from the day’s sunshine, and moves his hand back to the knot. “Here,” she says, and as soon as it’s out of her mouth, Ben leans in and kisses her. She parts her lips, wanting him to push his tongue past them, and moans softly, the kind of little noise that could be brushed off as a tree creaking in the breeze if anyone heard it.

He pulls his mouth away and she nearly whimpers. “Shouldn’t you be quiet so we don’t get caught?” he asks.

“Only good girls keep quiet.” This time she doesn’t wait for him, but presses her mouth against his and jabs at the seam of his lips with her tongue. She doesn’t care if it lacks finesse; she’s been on edge with want since their call and is about to tip over into need. Ben doesn’t seem to mind and presses back, matching her eagerness and sucking on her lip. 

Rey unties her dress and lets it fall open, then takes Ben’s hands and moves them up her bare waist to her lace-covered breasts. Now he’s the one who moans, palming her chest, then running his fingers down her back to knead her ass, then slipping them inside her bra to pinch her nipples like he can’t decide which is the best part. 

It feels so good to finally have his hands all over her, knowing that there’s no Rose in the next room and only a few slips of fabric between her cunt and his cock, that Rey might be dripping already.

She unbuttons his shirt and tugs it free from his waistband, throwing his tie over his shoulder and sliding her hands over the T-shirt covering his chest. But when she undoes his belt, her mind racing ahead to imagine slipping her fingers down his pants and wrapping them around his cock, his hands still over her hips—not again, she thinks, not when they’re inches from her clit—and he opens his eyes. 

“Are you sure we won’t get caught?” he asks, too playfully. He’s teasing her.

It makes Rey want to scream. He might have been the one talking suggestively and grabbing at her in hallways and kissing her in his empty office, but she’s the one who’s desperate now.

“Yes,” she says, suddenly inspired. She holds out the ties to her dress. “I’m so sure that I want you to tie me to the railing.”

“So you can’t get away?” There’s a flash of hesitation in his eyes before it’s replaced by excitement. 

“Sometimes that’s what you have to do with bad girls.” She nips at his neck as he bends over her to loop the dress belt around her wrists and the railing. 

“Rey.” He pulls away and gives her a stern look. “Watch what I’m doing. Make sure it’s okay.”

“That’s good. Make it a little tighter. I can wriggle out if I need to.”

Ben tightens the knot a fraction but leaves plenty of slack between her wrists and the railing. “Oh, you’re going to squirm all right. But you’re not going anywhere.”

Anticipation flares in her stomach, hot and bright and a little bit sickening. Her fear of getting caught is eclipsed by the thrill of having talked Ben into breaking the rules with her. He definitely didn’t come to the park thinking he’d fuck her where he normally stretches, but she convinced him and now he’s enjoying himself. She feels high on her power over him, even though she’s the one tied up.

“I’m not going anywhere until you make me come,” she says.

He straightens and moves his hands back to her bare skin, using one to pull her mouth toward his while the other slips into her underwear and skims her clit. It feels glorious after so much build-up, like each nerve ending is a live wire that just needs the touch of his fingers to complete the circuit and light her up, and she groans into his mouth. 

He takes it as an invitation to push a finger into her cunt, slowly and gently, gauging her reaction. She groans again and he pulls out of the kiss.

“You are too wet to sit through dinner,” he says, keeping his hand on her chin and running a thumb across her lips, just like she’d done to him in the empty office. A string of her spit clings to his finger and he wipes it in the dip between her breasts.

She should feel embarrassed, standing here half-naked, drooling onto him, but she’s too needy to care. His other finger is still inside her, not moving, not really filling her the way she wants.

“Do something about it. Show me what you’ve learned,” she says, and clenches to give him the gist.

Ben smiles, pulls his finger out of her, and pushes it into her mouth. She swirls her tongue across it, keeping her eyes on his, teasing back.

When she’s sucked his finger clean, he takes it out and unzips his pants halfway, reaching into his boxers to pull his cock out. The shadows are too deep for her to get a good look at it, which is a disappointment, but if it’s out he’s probably going to fuck her, finally, which is a consolation.

“Step up on the railing,” he says, giving himself a few quick strokes, “and I will.”

“Since you asked so not-nicely.” He left enough slack in the tie that she can move without its being too tight, clever man, and stepping onto the first rung lifts her hips close enough to his that he won’t have to bend his knees so much. Very crafty.

He stops talking as he grips her waist, pulls her underwear aside, and slides inside her, but she can’t suppress a moan at the way his length pushes into her.

“It’s almost like you want to get caught,” he says incredulously. “Like you want someone to find you here, in public, tied up with your tits out. Moaning for my cock like the desperate little slut you are.”

Either he’s learned very quickly or he didn’t really need to be taught a lesson in misbehaving. “You’re the one who’s still talking,” Rey retorts breathlessly. “Why don’t you shut up and give me the fucking I deserve.”

He does. He wraps his fingers around her hipbones and drives into her hard enough that she can feel the railing shake beneath her. She pulls at the ties to try to hold on, but can’t quite reach and has to let her hands dangle there helplessly.

Rey had worried that after all their talking, all their teasing, all their finger-brushing and lip-tugging, their chemistry would fizzle out once they actually got down to honest-to-goodness fucking. That they’d been kindling a flame that would flare, then burn away, a nice little campfire. Instead it feels like the heat inside her could race through a forest, flattening everything. Like she’s accidentally sparked something that’s going to run out of control.

Ben slows his thrusts and buries his face in her neck. “This is what you deserve, Rey,” he mutters into her ear. “To have to stand there like the bad girl you are and take whatever fucking I give you.”

“You’re the one who’s desperate. You would have fucked me in your hallway if I’d let you,” she gasps. “How many times have you jerked off pretending your hand was my cunt? That’s not what a nice boy does, Ben.” Of course saying it, thinking of him fisting himself to thoughts of her, makes her cunt flutter.

He jerks into her, hard, a few times as a retort. She holds the moan back this time and continues. “You’re the one who can’t keep his great big cock in his pants. You’re the one who can’t keep from fucking me in the park.”

“Fine,” he says, pumping his hips faster and adding a finger on her clit. “I have been bad.”

“Just bad?”

“Very bad.” He must be getting close, because he’s too focused on rubbing her to talk any more. She’s so wet that his finger keeps sliding around and he has to press harder to keep it on the spot that makes her gasp and—he was right—squirm.

Rey’s also very close, and says what she thinks he wants to hear to help them both toward the edge. “Good thing I’m just as bad. Such a desperate little slut.”

“Mmm,” he grunts. The railing starts shaking again from the force of his thrusts. His pants, slung so carefully on his hips, fall to his ankles, and his belt clatters on the ground. They’ve both lost control.

“Who’s going to come all—over—you—” she gets out, and then comes, her whole body arching away from the railing so that only the ties at her wrists and being impaled on his cock keep her from pitching forward. 

She breathes through the last of her shudders and comes back to herself, feeling the prickling hair on his thighs and the scratch of his chest against her lace-clad nipples as he keeps pushing himself as deep as he can go.

She opens her eyes in time to see his get very wide, the whites gleaming in the dark, that same look of near-boyish wonder on his face as when she’d first fallen on top of him. He comes with a groan louder than any of her moans, sinking his face into her neck as he floods her cunt, then cuts himself off with a hand over his mouth.

Ben stills and starts laughing. “Fuck,” he says. “I’m going to get us caught.”

“I told you you’re a bad boy,” Rey says. “But you learned your lesson.”

He swipes a hand across his eyes and then meets her look. “I guess I did.”

“And you aced the final.”

“I’ve never had any complaints before.”

“I might complain a little if you don’t untie me.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just keep you here.”

“I’ll clean you off with my mouth.”

“What a negotiator you are.” He unwraps the fabric. She stands on tiptoe to let him slide out of her, then leans forward to lick at his still half-hard cock. She’s not only satisfied from her orgasm, but pleased with herself for arranging this encounter.

She gives the tip one last flick of her tongue and reaches down to pick up his pants from where they’ve fallen around his ankles.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ve whet my appetite and we’ve got a reservation.”

*

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Maybe it’s the bottles of wine they shared, maybe it’s that her body feels completely relaxed after their session in the park. Or maybe she’s just having a nice conversation with Ben. Whatever it is, Rey’s enjoying herself, so she says, “Anything.”

“How did you get here?”

“Well, Ben, they have this technology called a subway now. Very handy for getting around cities.”

He rolls his eyes. “Clearly you didn’t grow up in the States. Why are you here now?”

She takes a sip of wine and looks at him through her lashes over the rim. There are three versions of this story: the tug-at-your-heartstrings, poor English orphan, I-need-a-daddy-to-rescue-me one; the charming, I’m-such-a-scamp-but-the-sexy-kind one; and the sad, unglamorous truth. 

For Ben, the obvious choice is sexy scamp. She doesn’t need him to rescue her—he already agreed to the deal—and he’s certainly not getting the truth.

“When I was 16, my parents took me on a holiday to this resort on St. Martin,” she begins, putting down her wine glass and leaning forward. “Have you ever been?”

“No.” Good. She can embellish freely.

“It was heaven. My parents went off and did god knows what, but they let me sit by the pool and read all day. You could order whatever you wanted and these gorgeous French boys would bring it out to you.”

“And one of them told you to seek your fortune in America?”

“ _Mais non_. One of them invited me to drink on the beach after dark. So I put on a little dress over my bikini and told my parents I was going to the disco or something. I was pouring some punch into a cup when I heard this American voice saying, ‘Watch out for that, it’ll sneak up on you.’” She pauses so he can laugh. Americans love when she imitates them.

“It was this guy who was at the resort with his family, and his twin sister had also made friends with the staff and gotten them invited to this beach party. So I got to chatting with them, and somebody put music on, and we were all dancing on the sand to these breathy French pop songs.”

Ben rests his chin in his hand, watching her with interest. “Did the punch sneak up on you?”

“It absolutely did. The next thing I knew, I was rolling around in a hammock with this American guy. I would not recommend it, by the way; it’s very hard to get any traction when you’re swinging around. But we managed it, and after he came he told me the next day he wanted to sit with me at the pool. Sweet, right?”

Ben nods.

“So I was sitting in my usual spot when this gorgeous girl walked up and stretched out next to me. Like someone out of, I don’t know, Baywatch. Or one of those other American shows where everyone is tanned and gorgeous. She was the woman-in-a-bikini fantasy I didn’t know I had.

“She took out the same book I was reading, so I made a joke about having good taste. We started talking, and it turned out she was this guy’s twin sister. Lucky me. I guess it was too dark on the beach or I was too plastered to remember what she looked like.”

“So you had a little book club?”

“We kept talking, her brother eventually showed up, we had lunch, and they told me all about how they were going to Columbia that fall.

“Then one day the brother was taking a surfing lesson, and the sister invited me to their room to see if I wanted to borrow any of her books. We were at this beautiful resort, she took me out on the balcony, and she picked up one of her books and started reading poetry.”

“Very romantic.” Ben sips his wine.

“Yes. So we were—how to put this?—hooking up, and it turned out she _did_ have good taste.” She sweetens this brag with a little flattery. “You’ve been with plenty of women; I know you know what I’m talking about. Suddenly the door opened and her brother walked in. My first thought, because I was young and stupid, is that maybe he wanted to join us.”

“But he passed on that opportunity.”

“He was mad. He started yelling at her, yelling at me, he couldn’t believe I was sleeping with both of them, then she started yelling back, she would sleep with whoever she wanted, and I ran away. I spent the rest of the holiday snorkeling so nobody could see my face.

“But when I got back home, I got that book of poetry from the library and I thought, I’ve got to go where people know about this. Where people look like those twins. And that’s how I decided to apply to Columbia. I’ve been in the States ever since.”

“So you like to travel, you like poetry, and you like art.”

“Now you know everything about me.”

He takes another sip of wine and looks at her thoughtfully. “Would you like to come to an exhibition that’s opening next week? I was going to go by myself, but you seemed pretty interested in the pieces in my collection.”

She silently thanks whatever trickster god is in charge of scams. It’s so easy. First Armie suggested this art deal without her or Rose having to do anything, and now Ben is suggesting they go on dates when she needs to distract him from the fact that the helmet isn’t ready.

But he’s not wrong. The pieces are beautiful, and she’s genuinely interested in whatever this exhibition has. “I’d like that,” she says. “Which gallery?”

“Well—” and here Ben’s mouth tips up on one side—“it’s in Tokyo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all going to be fine!
> 
> why have vanilla sex when you can encourage the stranger you're trying to scam to experiment with light bondage in a public place


	9. The trip

“Take those off,” Finn says. “They’re just going to rip when you sit down on the plane.”

“All right, bossy,” Rey says, and shimmies Maz’s trousers down her hips.

“Do you want your thighs to feel like sausages on your 12-hour flight to Japan? I’m just thinking ahead.”

“It’s what they pay you the big bucks for.” Rey holds out the pants, and Finn trades her for a paisley shirt dress.

“I think that’s going to wrinkle, but let’s see how you look in it.”

“I can already tell it’s too short. It’ll flash my crotch when I sit down.”

Finn gives her a sly look. “From what Rose tells me, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.”

Rey buttons the dress and admires her legs in all three of the mirrors that wrap around Maz’s dressing room. “What did she tell you?”

“Just that you skipped pizza night to go to dinner with the guy from Poe’s nightmare of a photo shoot.” He catches her eye in the mirror and puts air quotes around “go to dinner.” “Fortunately Poe and I were there to commiserate.”

“I asked her first! Is she mad? Why didn’t she just tell me she was going to be mad?” Rey takes a jacket from the pile of clothes Finn set out and slings it over her shoulders, flexing to see if she can move her arms.

“It’s fine. She’s not mad.” Finn gestures for her to take the jacket off. “That doesn’t go.”

Rey obeys. “I just don’t want her to feel like I’m abandoning her.”

“Do you feel like she’s abandoning you? Do you think Maz feels like I’m abandoning her to focus on my styling business?” Finn hands her a different jacket.

“Wait, what?”

“That was the big news you missed at pizza night. Starting this fall I’m going to work for Maz part-time and style people the other half of the time.”

“Finn! That’s so exciting. And you already know everyone that needs styling or makes clothes, so you’re going to be super busy.”

“That’s why I didn’t go to the Hamptons this year. I’m getting everything set up. I want to be a little more creative. Dress someone who isn’t Maz.”

“I’m really happy for you.”

“That’s my point. Maz is a nice person and she’s excited for me, even though it means I’m cutting back my hours with her. You’re happy for me and you’re happy that Rose is going to be a doctor.” He pauses, looks her up and down, and shakes his head. “The more I look at this dress, the less I like it.”

Rey unbuttons herself while Finn rummages in the closet. “What if I’m not completely happy for her?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just sad, that’s all,” Rey says, putting the dress back on its hanger. “It’s the end of an era. First Rose gets into med school, then I don’t show up for pizza night.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Finn emerges with a crocheted halter dress and tosses it at her. “When we all met we were living in the dorms and eating ramen.”

“I still eat ramen.” Rey tries to sort out which ties go around her waist and which go around her neck.

“What I mean is, that was a different point in our lives, but we’re still friends.” Finn takes pity and loops the strings around her neck. “You can still be friends with Rose even if you’re not running a startup together. Or one of your little schemes.”

He gives her another appraising look. “This is more, I’m a fashionable woman with great taste and my own gallery on a chic summer getaway.”

“With art to steal and a hot rich dude to bang.”

Finn holds up a hand. “It’s bad enough hearing about Poe’s misadventures at work. I don’t need to hear all the details of your bedroom escapades.”

She grins. “What if I told you we weren’t in the bedroom?”

He actually covers his ears. “Oh, Rey. Please don’t.”

*

The car waiting outside the airport whisks them through the late-afternoon sun and city traffic to what looks like any other Tokyo office building. Rey blinks in the light, Ben unfolds his legs from the back seat, and they step into a tatami-matted entry with shelves for their shoes and hot towels for their hands.

It’s a traditional inn hidden behind a modern exterior, a little secret in the heart of downtown, and what’s even better is that the receptionist gives them two keys. Rey spent half the flight pretending to sleep while wondering if it would be weird for them to share a bed. It’s fun to flirt, but she’s trying to get him to exchange a valuable piece of art for a relatively worthless replica, not start a relationship.

Ben tells her they’re having dinner at seven before letting out a huge yawn and disappearing into his own room. She thinks about taking a nap, but she’s too excited to be in a new place. She has a bath, slides open the shoji screens covering the windows to look at the skyline, wanders to the lounge to try the free snacks, and cajoles the staff member refreshing the teapot to teach her a few phrases in Japanese.

Then she puts on one of the outfits Finn packed for her—along with a bundle of yen he got from the bank, “in case you get into trouble,” he told her in the same serious, patient voice he’ll use on his teenage children someday—and goes to the lobby to wait for Ben.

There’s no menu at the restaurant, just a blond-wood counter with two sets of plates and cups, and a series of increasingly delicious morsels of sea creature, carved, seasoned, and occasionally torched in front of them by the chef. Every bite is the best thing Rey’s ever eaten—even the vinegar undertone of the rice seems like a revelation—and her jet lag makes everything shimmer at the edges, like she’s hallucinating this blissful meal.

The food makes her want to grip the counter and groan, but faking an orgasm seems rude with the chef right there, as does making a show of running her tongue along her chopsticks or licking her fingers or anything less than reverence. So she simply watches Ben’s face, seeing her own reactions mirrored there—nostrils flaring at a hint of wasabi, eyes widening around each bite, eyelids fluttering as the taste rolls across the tongue.

They don’t even touch until the chef asks them to hold out their hands and sets a quivering mouthful of uni on their palms. Before Rey can figure out how to elegantly slurp hers, Ben picks his up and holds it against her lips. His fingers are hot and firm against her mouth, and that, along with the briny tang and slippery texture, makes her think of how they’d tasted together when she licked him clean at the park.

It must show in her eyes, because Ben’s gaze turns heated, and he doesn’t look away as he parts his lips to accept the bite from her. He darts his tongue out and flicks the tip against the pad of her finger.

Finally the chef bends down to get their tamagoyaki from somewhere under the counter, and Rey seizes the moment of privacy to lean over and murmur to Ben. “You’ll feed me, but you’re scared to sleep with me?”

“I thought it would be nicer to let you get some sleep. You want to be refreshed to appreciate the art, don’t you?”

*

She can’t sleep, though. How could she, when she can see lights on neighboring streets, flickering signs letting her know the city is still open, friends laughing and smoking together on the sidewalk.

How could she when her body is thrumming with jet lag and desire, making her feel like she’s drugged. When she reaches down to touch herself and she hallucinates—or is it fantasizes—her clit is a fish swimming through the wetness trickling out of her cunt.

As it swells with each stroke of her fingers, she imagines serving it up to Ben, kneeling over his face and pressing the bud against his lips. How his nostrils would flare and his eyelids flutter as he devoured her.

Rey wakes from this half-dream with a start and, before she can roll over or reconsider, slides off the futon, pulls on the hotel robe, and slips out of her room to knock on Ben’s door.

He blinks down at her, wearing a matching robe that, in the light slanting across his frame from the hallway, appears considerably tighter on him, barely stretching around his shoulders and skimming the tops of his thighs. Ben seems just as dazed as she is, eyes bright and alert beneath his lashes but sagging underneath with tiredness. He shuts the door quietly behind her, and darkness steals over the room, veiling his expression.

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice cracking and groggy.

She doesn’t have to look at his face. She can pretend this was all a dream. She can blame it on the jet lag. So she tells him the truth.

“I don’t need anything,” Rey says. “I want you.”

She plants her hands on the thighs left exposed by his robe, using them to anchor herself as she drops to her knees. He doesn’t react—he can’t see, and maybe doesn’t realize what she’s doing, or does and can’t believe it—as she leans forward until her forehead hits his hipbone, then gropes under the robe. His cock is smaller in her hand than it was in her cunt until she runs her tongue over the head, sloppily, more figuring out where it is in the dark than anything, and it swells under her fingers.

When she’s confident of where it begins and ends, she sinks her mouth over the full length, letting the weight press her tongue down and the tip scrape against the back of her throat. She clutches his ass with one hand to balance and snakes her other hand down to touch herself, making a wet noise.

Ben starts, poking the hard head of his cock against an even softer part of her throat, and seems to come out of his stupor. “Fuck,” he groans. “What are you doing?”

In response, Rey digs her fingers into his ass and pulls his hips closer to her face, moaning as she does it.

“You can’t even pull your mouth off my cock to answer me,” he says slowly. He clears his throat, hesitating, until she starts bobbing over him, insistent.

Then he takes a long, shuddering breath and continues. “Poor needy little thing. We just had dinner. Are you still hungry?

“You want me to feed you my come? You want to take it in that hot little mouth of yours? Swallow it all?

“Or do you want me to fuck that tight little cunt? Is it dripping wet again? Keeping you awake?”

His fingertips come to rest on her ear, then her chin, finding the spit that’s leaked out of her mouth in her eagerness to suck at him. It feels possessive, like he thinks he’s entitled to touch her anywhere, even though he probably just can’t see where her face is. His hips jerk, and she nearly chokes on him before regaining her rhythm.

“You’re gagging for it. I knew a little slut like you would be good at sucking cock.” He’s talking faster now, his voice less sleepy and more assured. His fingers thread into her hair and tug her head back, gently at first. “But you didn’t answer me.”

Rey moans again, and he pulls more confidently this time, hard enough that she tips her head back and lets his cock slide out of her mouth.

“You came into my room in the middle of the night. Was it to suck me off or to get fucked?” He pauses and clears his throat again. “I know it’s hard because you’re such a greedy little thing, but I need to know what you want. If you don’t answer me, there will be consequences.”

“I don’t want to be punished,” she says. It’s what she told him upstate, too, but tonight it’s a lie. Now that he’s suggested it, she’s imagining herself with a mouth full of cock and her ass burning under his palm, her cunt fluttering helplessly as he strokes the backs of her thighs.

She usually tries to take control—likes telling her partners what she wants, what to do—but in her sleep-deprived, half-blissed, half-drugged state, she’s happy to let Ben take the lead. Last time she’d guided him; this time she wants to see what he’ll talk himself into.

“I don’t want to do it,” he says. That’s probably a lie, too, judging by how low his voice gets. Why bring it up otherwise? He’s probably imagining the way she’ll moan after each smack. “So answer me, Rey.”

Her cunt pulses thinking of what she’s going to reply before it comes out in a voice pitched higher with need. “I came here to get fucked.”

He lets her hair go. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now get on the bed and I’ll fuck you. Just like you wanted.”

Rey’s still not sure he can see, but she doesn’t get off her knees. She crawls to where she thinks the futon is, pressing her thighs together so she can keep something rubbing at her clit. She settles at the edge, still on hands and knees. She’s both chef and feast, arranging her body with back arched like she’s going to be sent out to Ben on a plate, her cunt exposed to the air like another mouthful of uni, slick with brine and ready to be enjoyed.

The floor creaks, and he slides his hands up the backs of her thighs, pushing her robe up around her waist so her ass is exposed, too. Then he pauses.

“Should I fuck you in your soaking-wet cunt or in your tight little ass?”

She pushes herself into his hands instead of answering. He lifts one and brings it down on her cheek in a slap that’s more surprising than stinging, clearly not putting any strength into it. The noise that comes out of her could be a cry or the start of a giggle, just air leaking out of her like her cunt is leaking onto her inner thighs. 

“I told you. If you don’t answer, there are consequences.”

It’s a very flimsy pretext for carrying out his threat. She keeps quiet again to see what he does, and he hits the other side of her ass, just hard enough to convince both of them that he’ll make good on his word. She yelps.

“You’re lucky I’m even giving you a choice.” He bends over and pulls at her hair to bring her ear closer to his mouth. “I told you I’m used to taking whatever I want.”

She arches into it, bending her neck back, feeling his breath hot on her cheek. “I can take whatever you give me.”

“Fucking right you will.” This time the slap is a little more forceful, making heat radiate out from under his palm. “I think you like it. It’s why you’re so bad all the time.”

“Maybe,” she says. It comes out bordering on a whimper. She’s had enough. “I want you to fuck me in—in my cunt.”

“All you had to do was tell me.” He gets a hand on each of her hips and shoves into her all at once. 

She’s so wet that there’s no resistance, but he’s a lot to take, even at this shallow angle. She lets herself fall onto her forearms, like she’s going to melt into the futon. He grunts at the shift and pushes a hand into her upper back, pressing her into the quilt.

Rey wriggles an arm out and brings her fingers down to her clit. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of his hips slapping lightly at her ass, to his steady breathing, as focused as if he were on a run, to the moans that burble out of her own throat. There’s no savoring, no slowing. It feels like gluttony for her to lie here and take everything he offers.

Ben leans over her back, driving deeper into her, pressing down on her with more and more of his weight. She can feel the heat of him covering her body through the thin cotton of their robes, his breath at her ear, his mouth nipping at her shoulder and neck. Like he won’t stop until he’s taken everything in turn. Until he’s devoured her just like she imagined.

She thinks back to her fish, writhing and swimming in a warm pool, so wet, so close. She squeezes her eyes tighter, and light bursts behind them as she comes with a gasp, like she’s broken the surface and emerged into sunlight, a wave of heat starting in her cunt and rippling over her whole body.

He groans, feeling her spasm, and grasps her shoulders to lever himself into her, as deep as he can go, panting into her ear now, not slowing until he shudders and stops. After a few seconds he rolls away. She can breathe again, without his ribs crushing her lungs, but she misses the heat of him.

“Go back to your room before I do it again,” he says drowsily.

She should say something before she leaves. But while she thinks about it, Ben’s breathing slows, and she realizes he’s fallen asleep.

Rey slithers back to her own room, feeling his still-warm come trickle down her leg as she nestles into her own quilt, and sleeps until dawn.

*

Ben is so absorbed in looking at a prehistoric headpiece repaired with thick seams of sap that he doesn’t notice when Rey pads up next to him.

“This wasn’t part of your grandfather’s collection, was it?”

He tilts his face toward her to reply, eyes still on the sticky-looking beads between the fragments. “The helmet he found—that I’m trading Rose for—is a much better example. But this is interesting because it shows how it was done with bone and wood before they started using iron.”

Rey feels a tiny thrill at knowing more than he does—that he won’t be getting the real helmet at all. But she’s also excited to be here. She bends down to peer at the headpiece alongside him. 

“Did you see the pieces in the other room with all kinds of different metals? The ones done after the 2011 earthquake? There are a couple in plastic, too, and even one in fabric. It reminded me of that dress Phyllida wore to some awards show that was made of lettuce. Or maybe kale. All these leafy pieces stitched together.”

He turns his eyes to hers, interested. “I haven’t been in there yet.”

“Either way, it wilted by the end of the night, and she had to borrow a robe to go to the after-party.” She shrugs. Then, because he seems so relaxed and engrossed in the art, she decides to ask a question she’s curious about. “Ben, why did you invite me here?”

His expression goes stony. “Was last night too much?”

“Of course not. I told you I can take whatever you dish out.” She’s almost offended that he thinks a couple of slaps on the ass would be enough to scare her off.

“All right, you don’t have to prove yourself all over again.”

“Did you really just invite me here to look at the art?”

Now he shrugs. “You seem to appreciate the pieces in my collection.”

“I appreciate your...collection even more after the chance to examine one particular piece up close,” she says suggestively. “But I’d still like to see some other pieces in greater detail.”

She doesn’t regret coming along—having the chance to explore a new city, getting to take in this incredible exhibition—but she’s still a little surprised that Ben doesn’t have any friends who would have come and appreciated the art. That she would be his first choice.

“And there’s no chance that Rose will pop up in the next room while we’re on the other side of the world,” he points out.

“It’s very unlikely.”

“You drove a hard bargain for the helmet, but I suspected you have an artistic soul under that tough exterior.”

“And do I?”

“You certainly know how to appreciate...works of art.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as though ben was serious about anal. finn didn't pack any lube in rey's suitcase.
> 
> whew! make like these two and treat yourself to a little escape/check out the website of this [ryokan in central tokyo](https://hoshinoya.com/tokyo/en/)


	10. The return

That night, worn out by the gallery visit and dinner at a French restaurant better than any she’d been to on her trust-fund-kid-funded trips to Paris, Rey sleeps soundly in her own room.

The next day, they stroll through a manicured park, then stop for coffee before their return flight, following directions on Ben’s phone to a dark, wood-paneled shop that looks like it could have opened any time in the last hundred years.

The atmosphere ought to be thick with the smell of roasting beans and the sound of water whooshing from the copper kettles, but it’s crowded instead with the voices of a group of white men in suits huddled over the bistro table next to Ben and Rey.

If Rey were with Rose, she’d be all over them. None of them have wedding rings and they’re talking loudly in English without any consideration for the regulars at the bar. 

She’s met a hundred men like them. She doesn’t even listen to what they’re saying; she knows from their tone she could get them to buy her a few drinks, maybe even dinner, if she just faked interest in their self-important word cloud for half an hour.

Ben seems to be listening, though. He’s looking down at the menu, but not actually reading it. His eyes harden, glossing over like the lacquer on the vases they’d just looked at. When he turns to the group and opens his mouth, Rey thinks she’s about to see the famous temper, a bollocking like the one he’d given Poe and Beebs.

But what comes out is his most polished tone, almost as low as the one he uses on the phone with her. “I couldn’t help but overhear your energy play, and I have to say, it’s a very interesting idea.”

The man Rey’s privately dubbed Too Much Watch slaps the table. “Thank you!” he bellows to Ben. “I’ve been trying to get these guys to see the light. Oil is going to plummet, right?”

“Fuck off,” says one of his companions, Ugliest Tie Rey’s Ever Seen. “Go outside and look at how many cars are on the road.”

“Then fly back to London with me and look at how many cars are on the road there. Oh wait, we’ll also need to burn some oil to fly that plane,” says the third man jostling shoulders to get at his coffee. Glasses He Probably Wears To Look Smarter.

“Well, no one has a crystal ball. Although maybe some of you have diamond ones?” It’s a terrible joke from Ben, but all three men roar with laughter to show that yes, their balls are harder than steel and enormous, too.

“Nevertheless, I agree,” he continues. “The only way to get ahead is to look far into the future.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Too Much Watch slaps the table again. “I am so glad you’re sitting next to us, man. Try to talk some sense into these idiots.”

“I don’t know why you’ve got such a hard-on for wind farms,” Glasses says with a sigh.

“And don’t even bring up solar panels unless you want to see his O-face,” Ugliest Tie tosses in.

“I wasn’t talking about alternative energy sources,” Ben says. “Because you’re both right. The number of cars on the road is only increasing every year. I was thinking more about different modes of transportation.”

They all pause to think. Finally Ugliest Tie’s face lights up. “Like electric cars?”

“You said it. I only brought it up because I’ve been doing some work for my fund on this electric-car opportunity, and I’ve found that a lot of really forward-thinking investors are thinking the same way as your friend here.”

“What opportunity is that?” Too Much Watch asks in a normal voice. They’ve all quieted down since Ben took control of this conversation.

“I’m not going to give that away at our first meeting. My fund is Finalizer Capital, though, in New York.” This impresses them into silence. “Let me give you my card.”

“I’m in New York all the time. For meetings,” Glasses says hopefully.

“Call me sometime. We’ll have lunch and I can tell you more about this opportunity,” Ben says, obliging. “Pleasure to talk with you. Enjoy your time in Tokyo.”

He turns back to Rey. “You haven’t even taken a sip of your coffee,” he says. It’s true. She’s been too busy watching him sell these jerks an investment they didn’t even know they wanted. She’s surprised he even noticed that she hasn’t lifted her cup. “It’s getting cold.”

*

Their boarding passes get them waved past one lounge and whisked onto an elevator that opens into a hushed world that’s more spa than airport. Thick carpet muffles the sound of rolling suitcases, and swinging doors section off a dining area to hide the rattle of silverware on china. Out the window, Rey can see a plane hurtling down the runway, but can’t hear any engine roar.

Ben consults an attendant, then nods at Rey. “Come on,” he says. “I could eat something before we take off.”

She follows him through another swinging door, thinking it will go to a different dining room, but it’s just a hallway lined with curtained-off nooks. He draws back the curtain to one and motions her into a private little nap room with a built-in sofa beneath a window to the runway and a stack of crisp-cornered magazines. 

He pulls the curtain shut behind them. In the near-silence, Rey can almost hear the rustling of the coppery silk skirt of her dress around her legs as she shifts her weight.

She looks around. “Is this another restaurant without a menu?” she whispers.

Ben picks up one of the beaded tassels on the ties of her halter neck and dusts the cool edges across her bare back to tickle her. “There’s only one thing on the menu,” he murmurs back.

She leans into him. “That makes it easy.”

“That depends on you.” He leaves the tassels and traces the edges of the two triangles of white fabric that cover her from waist to neck, exposing a contrasting triangle of skin between.

“I can be depended on.”

“Can you?” He slips his fingers under the fabric. “You’re going to have to be very quiet.” He strokes one nipple very gently until it stiffens. It’s almost painful to have that much sensation focused on such a small point.

“I’m very discreet.”

“You’re going to have to be very good, too. Can you do that?” He does the same to her other breast.

“Yes,” she sighs. Her heart has started beating hard enough that she can hear the faint thumping in her ears.

“Yes, what?”

“I can be good.”

“Prove it.” He takes his hands out of her dress and gives her a tap on the ass. “Go sit down.”

She settles on the built-in sofa, shivering as the silk of the dress brushes at her sensitive nipples even though the sunshine is warm at her back. Ben stands in front of her, pinning her down with his eyes as he studies the line of her throat, the slope of her breasts away from her sternum, the fabric seam that marks where the softness of her waist meets the harder edges of her hips. Making her wait while he considers.

He seems to come to a decision and kneels in front of her. She tips forward, reaching for the buttons of one of the work shirts he’s worn for the whole trip, and he instantly rocks back.

“Sit on your hands.”

Her own fingers are warm under her thighs, and as she shifts on the sofa, she can feel the wetness gathering between them. Ben pulls his blazer off and drapes it over his suitcase. He unbuttons each shirt cuff and rolls up each sleeve, folding them neatly beneath his elbows. 

Rey keeps her eyes on him as he reveals his forearms an inch at a time, hoping for more skin and trying to hide her disappointment when she doesn’t get it. He slips his watch off his wrist and tucks it into his blazer pocket, the metal clinking against the change from their coffees.

She wants to be good. Wants to see what he has in mind this time. It’s easy, she realizes, to slip from playing with him to letting him play with her.

He plants a hand on either side of her thighs and leans in to kiss her, lightly at first, then slowly adding more pressure. His tongue is heavy and lazy, almost daring her to push it out of her mouth. They both know he could be flicking it across her. Instead she softens her mouth and opens wider.

He smiles into her. “You’re trying so hard to be good,” he says, still in a whisper. “You’re doing so well.”

He kisses her again, still languid and relaxed, like they have all the time in the world to revel in the plushness of each other’s lips and the glide of each other’s tongues. He settles one hand on her neck and traces the line of her jaw with his thumb before finding her pulse point. His fingers are like more sunshine on her skin, leaving heat wherever they touch.

This time when he pulls his lips off, he rests his nose on hers, so he barely has to do more than breathe to speak to her. “But you’re so excited. I can feel your heart beating.” He punctuates this with the faintest squeeze at her neck, not threatening, just reminding her that he’s running things. “I bet you need more. Do you? You can tell me.”

She nods.

“I said you can tell me.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes, what?” he asks again. Every time he presses her with a _what_ it’s like he’s tapped a finger on her clit, sending a little thrill through it.

“Yes, I need more.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get. Because you’re behaving.” He goes back to kissing her, leaving her neck and trailing his hand between her breasts. She presses her thighs onto her hands and arches her chest forward, demanding more. But he refuses to speed up, tracing each breast over her dress, then reaching under the fabric to tease each nipple some more.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he asks, kissing lightly along her jaw. “I’m giving you more. Don’t get impatient on me.”

She sighs, even though she wants to groan.

Ben laughs under his breath. “You can do it,” he whispers into her neck. “Good girls get to come. Bad girls have to get on the plane all wet and unsatisfied.”

This sounds like a nightmare. Twelve hours sitting next to him under the watchful gaze of the flight attendants, unable to touch him. “You wouldn’t,” Rey whispers back.

“More like you wouldn’t.” He skims his hands over the top of her dress, up her thighs, across the line of her underwear. Then he lets them rest there, spanning her hips. “Can you keep being quiet if I put my hands under this skirt?”

“Yes. Even if you put them inside me.”

“What about my tongue?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” She presses her thighs together to contain the thrill, and his eyes light up, feeling her strain beneath his hands.

“Yes, I can be quiet if you let me come on your tongue.”

“That’s right. If I let you. Very good.” He runs his hands up her legs again, this time making contact with her skin and lifting her skirt. She shifts to tug the fabric out from under her, and he stops, frowning. Rey sits on her hands again.

He rewards her by gently pushing her legs apart, resting his head on the inside of one thigh to watch as his fingers stroke her over her underwear. Even if one side of his mouth didn’t tighten, she knows there’s no way he could miss how wet she is.

Ben looks up at her. “So sweet. We’ve barely started, and you’re already soaked for me.” He taps her clit gently, still on top of the fabric.

She nods and bites her lip to hold back her moan, but can’t help the way her hips jerk up slightly to meet his fingers.

“Imagine how you’re going to feel when I’m done with you.” He changes the taps to a rub. “Our flight doesn’t leave for a couple hours. You’ll be begging me to let you come.”

She’s not there yet, but she can see herself pleading with him in a whisper, desperate, silent tears soaking her cheeks while she writhes beneath his fingers and tongue. She trusts him to get her there. She nods again.

“You look so good like this. Spreading your legs for me.” He slips his hand into her underwear and draws tiny, slippery circles around her entrance. “It makes me want to fuck you. Would you like that? Taking my cock after I’ve made you come?” As he says it, he puts a finger inside her, sliding it up to the knuckle, just holding it there. She squeezes around it, trying to draw him in deeper.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” This time he pushes his head against her thigh so she can’t press her legs together. She fists her hands underneath her thighs. Her clit pulses, and, along with the thrill, she feels a spark of frustration that could flare into sobbing and begging if he keeps it up.

“Yes, I want you to fuck me.” Then she specifies, hurriedly, “But after you make me come.”

“That’s a good girl.” He slides his finger in all the way. For an instant her legs go limp with relief—finally they’re getting somewhere—and then tense because she still needs more.

Slowly, patiently, he lifts his head and kisses his way along her thigh. The ends of his hair brush a sensitive spot, and she lets out a tiny yelp.

He slides his finger back out and frowns. Just when she was finally about to get that mouth of his on her clit. She digs her fingernails into her palms.

“Rey. You said you could be quiet. Did you lie to me?”

“No! I can be quiet,” she whispers quickly. “Your hair tickled me.”

“Oh.” He pushes it behind his ears.

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

“I’m going to make sure of that.” He pulls her underwear off, lifting her hips with a hand underneath them, and folds the lace into a little rectangle that he holds to her lips. Without being told to, she opens her mouth, and he puts the fabric between her teeth. “Bite on those if you need to make noise.”

She nods dumbly, feeling open and needy and completely under his spell. A very small part of her brain is telling her that she should be humiliated, sitting here obeying his orders, opening her legs for his fingers and her lips for her own underwear. A much bigger and louder part, though, is thrilled to follow Ben into breaking the rules, whispering to her delightedly that they’re in a lounge, for god’s sake, and they could still get caught.

He shifts back into position, one finger up her cunt and his mouth making its way to join it. When he gets there, he looks up at her, flattens his tongue, and licks from the base of his finger to her clit, testing. She bites on the lace, tasting the salt of herself, but keeps quiet.

Satisfied, he begins working her slowly but in earnest, tongue pressing her button and finger pumping in and out in tandem. She watches him work, the cords of his forearm flexing beneath the rolled-up sleeve as he slides his hand across her wetness, his dark head bobbing as he laps intently at her, his smooth-edged nails gripping her thigh as he pulls his face closer to her center.

He’s focused, even businesslike. In control. It’s as good as any scene that she’s thought up to play out with her marks. All she has to do is sit there and be sweet.

She’s starting to feel strung out, though, beneath the sweetness and stickiness that’s covering his face. There’s no way she’ll be able to take this for as long as he wants it to last. She tugs at his hair while thrusting her hips into his mouth, putting air between her ass and the cushion.

He strokes her hip soothingly and looks up, waiting.

She’s going to have to ask for it. She takes the underwear out. “Can you—can you please put another finger in me? And go faster?”

His eyes darken. He grunts, very quietly.

“Please, Ben,” she whispers. She puts the underwear back into her mouth and lets him see her bite down.

He hums and begins working a second finger into her. She can see her orgasm on the horizon, like the second finger has brought it into focus. He must feel her cunt flutter around him, because he crooks his fingers and rubs them against her front wall on his way in and out. The pressure builds, and she closes her eyes, letting herself be borne along on waves of it. She’s almost there—

—and then his mouth stills, and she’s not. She opens her eyes. Someone is panting in the nook next door, and it takes Rey a second to realize it’s her own breathing.

“Shhh.” Ben puts a finger on her lips—thankfully from the hand that’s on her thigh, leaving the one in her cunt in place. “Just be quiet a little longer and then you can come.”

Frustration wells up inside her, as hot as her desire, and when the heat reaches her eyes she tears up. All the sweetness has burned away. The need is going to burn her up, too, if she doesn’t come.

“Please, Ben,” she whispers around her own underwear, barely making a sound, her tongue dry and rasping against the fabric. She grips his wrist to get his attention. “Please, please make me come.”

“Why?”

She blinks the tears away. “I’ve been so quiet. I’ve been so good.” She tries to think of what else he might want to hear. At this point, with her orgasm looming in front of her, she’ll say anything to get to it. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because she’s still talking with her mouth full. “I’ll do anything. I’ll take your cock any way you want me to.”

He gives her a lick, considering, and she nearly comes right then. She tightens her fingers around his wrist to keep from trembling.

“What a good girl, begging me so nicely. You can come now.”

It takes maybe two strokes of his tongue and then she’s coming on his face, clamping her own hand over her mouth to keep from making noise. The pleasure seems to last forever, because she’s waited so long and she’s trying so hard to be silent.

When she finally sets her hips down, he takes his fingers out, plucks the underwear from her mouth, and wipes his hand clean. Then he gathers her up and turns them around so he’s sitting on the sofa and she’s on his lap.

She straddles his legs then unzips him slowly, covering the sound with a cough. He pulls her in by the shoulders and takes his cock out while he’s kissing her, letting it nudge at her entrance, hot and eager and already slippery. She’s slick enough to take him all at once, but sinks onto him a centimeter at a time to keep the wet sound from dribbling out.

He grabs her hips and pulls her down so he’s as deep as he can go, then pauses, eyes widening. “Fuck, Rey, you feel so good.”

Now that she’s come, she can tease him back a little. “Why don’t you show me just how good?” She rocks her hips and slips a finger between them to see if she can coax another climax from herself.

Something darker replaces the flicker of wonder in his eyes. “I’ll show you all right.” He keeps hold of her hips, tight enough to leave a mark, and stands up. Rey thinks he’s going to back her against the wall, but he doesn’t.

He wraps a forearm under her ass and bounces her on his cock while she tries to wrap her legs around him and hold on tight. There’s nothing to stand on, no purchase, so she just has to take it while he bucks into her. He looks her in the eyes with each hard thrust, daring her to make noise. She looks back and keeps her finger going on her clit, trying not to gasp from the overwhelming feeling of fullness.

“You’re taking it so well,” he whispers, without letting up. “So quiet, even with my cock stuffed inside you.”

She knows he wants a response. “I want to take your come, too. Like a good girl.”

He goes faster and faster, jaw twitching while he seems to bite back the sounds he wants to make. She takes it, feeling another orgasm flare up from the smoldering remains of her last one.

She needs him to get there alongside her. “Do it, please, Ben. Let me come with you.”

He lets out a groan that he tries to turn into a cough, finally out of control. “Fuck. Yes.”

Her fingers fly. She kicks him in the back as she comes again, throwing her head back to breathe through it. The warmth of his release has barely registered when he staggers back to the sofa and sits down heavily.

Rey climbs off to sit next to him and stretches her legs. They both still have their clothes on, but the silk of her skirt is rumpled, there’s a rat’s nest forming in the little hairs at her neck, and Ben’s neatly folded shirtsleeves have wrinkled. That, and his face is streaked with her fluids. They can’t get on the plane like this. It’s ridiculous. 

She catches his eye, he smiles sheepishly, and they’re in convulsions, Ben’s shoulders shaking silently while she wipes tears from her eyes. No attendant came to throw back the curtain. No passenger came to hiss at them to be quiet. They totally got away with it.

Finally Ben gets his watch from his pocket. “I think we still have time for the restaurant. I am actually hungry.”

Rey shakes her head. “Shower first. I saw a sign for them.”

*

In the stillness of her apartment—just like the lounge, provided she ignores the TV noise bleeding in from next door—Rey puts the kettle on and listens to the voicemail on her real phone. Then she dials Rose.

“You’re back from Tokyo?”

“Just landed.”

“Tell me, Rey, did you look at any art or just at his naked ass?”

“Some would say that _is_ art. But thank you for the reminder that I still haven’t seen him completely naked.”

“Hang on while I shed a single tear.”

“I’m running out of time.”

“Don’t you have to distract him for a little longer?”

“Nope. That’s what I called about. We’re back in business, baby!”

“We’ve got the helmet?”

“Bob just left me a message. We’ve got the helmet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, incredible, she *did* manage to distract him! now that they got that out of their systems, the plot will resume next chapter.
> 
> p.s. i am happy to report that this lounge is a real place where you can go and take a nap or read some magazines in silence, aka my personal airport fantasy. you have to bring your own ben, though.


	11. The corroboration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some light drinking in this one

“I am so sorry about the delay,” Bob says for the thousandth time as he blows an imaginary piece of dust from the plinth holding the helmet he’s just delivered. “A misunderstanding. Completely my fault. I should have warned you the materials would require time to set. It must have slipped my mind, though I can’t imagine how.”

“Bob, it’s fine,” Rose says gently. “It turned out beautifully. Come sit and let Rey make you a cup of tea.”

“Bob, I can hear you fussing,” Rey shouts from the kitchen over the boiling kettle. “The water’s hot! If you’re not sitting, I won’t bring you any tea.”

Bob sighs, ever put-upon, and finally sits. Rey hands the cups around and raises hers.

“To Bob,” she says. “Who came through with this gorgeous piece. As always.”

For a replica they’re using to scam someone, it really was worth the wait. The metallic seams make it seem to glow from within, and the metal shards look melted at the edges, as though they really have been through the heat of battle.

She hands over the envelope of cash pulled from her savings account. It was real before, but now, with the helmet in front of them, shiny and weighty and half-crumpled with faux history, it feels like they can’t lose.

*

They’ve agreed on a time for Ben to come see the helmet, and Rey thinks they’re about to hang up when Ben says he has another question.

“Can I see you again after we close this deal?”

She pauses. The real answer is absolutely not. Someday he’s going to realize the helmet is a fake, and she needs to disappear long before then. The second she and Rose get that vase from him, Rey’s going to put her burner phone in a drawer and ignore his calls. They’ll have the rented furniture hauled away and hand back the keys to the gallery space. He doesn’t know where she lives or her real email address.

She’ll probably pretend Ben is on the other end of her vibrator for the rest of her life, but she can’t see him in person ever again.

Of course, he has to think otherwise.

“You know where to find me,” she says. “Maybe I can help you set up the gallery at your house upstate. Or pick out some other pieces that aren’t from your grandfather’s collection. You have good taste. You should have some more art that’s just for you.”

If she wasn’t scamming him—stealing from him—she wouldn’t mind doing any of these things. She could even paint something for his gallery to go with that vista of grass and trees and mountains.

“All business, then?”

“I think we deserve some pleasure, too,” she says. “I can keep teaching you how to be bad. You can keep teaching me how to be good.”

“Whatever you say.”

*

A rap on the glass makes Rey jump. Ben is 20 minutes early for their meeting with Rose and the expert Rey hired to verify the authenticity of the helmet, and she’s in the middle of texting Finn from her real phone.

“You came too early,” she tells him as she unlocks the gallery door. “I can’t stand that in a man.”

“My apologies. That’s never happened to me before.” He strides in, unperturbed.

“You can make it up to me.” She was hoping he’d stay after the meeting and fool around, since this might be the last time she sees him, but she’ll seize this opportunity, too. “Help me with the coffee.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

She points to the cupboard in the kitchen area. “Lift me up so I can reach.”

Instead he lifts her onto the counter—as she expected—and nudges his hips between her knees. She pushes at his chest. “Take off your clothes.”

“Patience is a virtue, Rey.”

She rucks her skirt up and spreads her legs wider. “I’m not here to be virtuous.”

It’s not her subtlest attempt at seduction, but she doesn’t have much time. She just needs one look at him—just one glimpse in daylight of his shoulders, a single peek at his abs—and her imagination can take it from there in the future.

He’s shucked the work shirt and has his fingers on the hem of the T-shirt underneath when the door rattles. Ben pauses.

Rey glues her eyes to the inch of skin between the hem and his belt, trying to sear it into her brain. “Just a minute!” she shouts to whoever it is. If Rose has shown up 15 minutes early to be a cockblock, Rey might delete her number.

Ben seems to be genuinely debating whether to keep going. Then his mouth goes flat and he puts his shirt back on. “You’d better get that,” he says.

It’s not Rose, so Rey won’t have to end any friendships today, but Amilyn, the expert they’re paying off.

They’d met at an opening years ago, when Amilyn was meant to be working but had too much to drink. Rey had found her retching in the bathroom and held Amilyn’s hair back—she had it dyed blue then, not the purple she’s sporting today—and listened to a teary confession about a piece Amilyn had evaluated without really looking too closely. Then she’d gone back out and pretended to be Amilyn’s assistant, making excuses. Doing a favor for someone she’d just met.

She’s never brought up the bit about Amilyn vouching for art despite knowing it was sketchy. But whenever Rey asks for a favor of her own, Amilyn seems happy to oblige. It was a small moment of kindness—or was it recognizing weakness?—that’s really paid off.

Today Amilyn greets Ben with a knowing smile when Rey introduces them. “Of course,” she says smoothly. “I evaluated a piece for your mother a few years ago. I’d know you anywhere from the photos she had.”

It’s exactly what Rey told her to say. If Ben’s mother already worked with her, already let Amilyn into her home, then Ben can trust her.

“When I was three feet shorter? I doubt that,” he says grumpily, clearly mad at having been interrupted.

The door rattles again. Rose is pretending she can’t remember whether it’s push or pull. They watch her struggle until finally she tugs with both hands, nearly flinging herself onto the sidewalk, and totters inside on her towering heels.

Rey walks to the plinth, covered by a sheet for added drama. “Now that we’re all here, let’s take a look,” she says, and pulls the cover off.

Ben’s eyes widen. He’s impressed. While he goes to inspect it up close, the way he’d bent over the piece in the Tokyo exhibition—the way he’d studied her before getting to work with his mouth—Rey thinks about how she and Rose are going to celebrate later.

Champagne seems too light for the occasion. She’ll need something stronger to make herself forget that she never got to see Ben naked. Maybe Phyllida has something harder left over from her candy-bowl parties. They can have one last wild night out before Rose has to start spending her evenings in the books.

Ben straightens and turns to Rey, eyes lit up. “I can’t believe you found this.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Rose,” Rey says, all generosity.

“Just let me know when you need some more art, and we’ll make another trade,” Rose says lazily from one of the lounge chairs, tapping at her phone.

“I’ve asked Amilyn to give us some notes,” Rey prompts.

“Yes, I’ve done some research that indicates this is the helmet from the Anakin Skywalker collection,” Amilyn says. The information came from a file Rey gave her. But Amilyn, an impartial third party, has to deliver it to make it trustworthy. “Markings on the gold detailing match the ones in photos taken around the time his collection was sold at auction.

“I’ve looked through the records from the auction house and traced the piece from the auction to a buyer in California, then to one in Florida, going by the divorce settlement of the California owner. It’s believed that the Florida owner may have dropped it at one point, based on his personal diary, and then sold it to a dealer in New York who was willing to make repairs.

“That dealer died before repairing it, and it sat in the back of his shop for several years. There was some question about his will, and it took his heirs some time to fight over his estate. Eventually his grandson took over the shop, found his grandfather’s notes on the piece, tidied up the paperwork, and made the repairs.”

“And that’s where I got it,” Rose supplies.

“Exactly,” Amilyn resumes. “The dealer’s grandson—I suppose he qualifies as a dealer himself now—sold it to Rose, and now it will go back to the Skywalker family.”

Rey wondered if the parallel between Ben putting his grandfather’s collection back together and the dealer’s grandson making the repairs might be too tidy, but Ben is nodding along, his face nearly shining with excitement. It’s a nice story with a happy ending.

“If you’re satisfied, Ben, I’ll have Amilyn put your name on the paperwork,” Rey says.

“Should we set up another meeting to evaluate the vase?” Ben offers, mainly to her.

“I don’t think we need to go all the way upstate,” Rose says pointedly, which Rey understands to mean that Rose refuses to climb into Phyllida’s car again, no matter how much Rey pleads for the chance to trap Ben in the office. “Rey already looked at it. Amilyn can go and send us the paperwork.”

“I’d be happy to,” Amilyn says.

*

Ben might be satisfied with the trade, but their encounter by the coffee machine left Rey wanting more. She makes it to lunchtime the following day before calling.

“Didn’t Amilyn tell you she’s coming out to the house the day after tomorrow? It’s all arranged.” His tone is brisk, and she can hear phones ringing and men yelling in the background.

“I called to make a different kind of arrangement. Busy day?”

“Not too busy for that. Just a second.” He muffles the mic and says, to someone else, “Can’t you see I’m on another call?”

She clears her throat, not rushing, not caring that she’s taking up his time. “Now that I have your attention, I’m calling to invite you out for a drink.”

“Just one drink?”

“To celebrate doing this deal. Maybe a bottle of something, if we’re feeling wild.”

“I have a better idea.”

“I’m listening.”

“Let’s have a drink and then go to a party.”

“What’s the occasion?” She’s intrigued.

“Well, it’s more of a gala that I’m expected to go to,” he clarifies.

“That sounds very celebratory. What should I wear?”

“Something with a lot of sparkles and a slit that goes up to your—”

“You were going to say up to my slit, weren’t you? Are you expected to behave yourself at this gala, too?”

“I’ll behave. Whether my behavior will be good or bad, I can’t say.”

“I look forward to finding out.”

*

The dress is outlandish. Even if Rey didn’t already know it, the covetous looks from everyone else in the bar would tell her she’s a spectacle in her strapless column of orange sequins. Ben’s eyes would tell her as they greedily follow the sparkles down to just above her knees where the dress cuts off, exposing her legs, save for one draped panel that extends to the floor.

But for once she’s not wearing something from someone else’s closet. She pulled it from the back of her own, brushing the dust off the sequins and rubbing a little soap on the zipper so it doesn’t catch. It’s flashy and outrageous and gorgeously made and meant to be seen. It’s like wearing her own piece of art.

“Am I dressed appropriately?” she asks, lifting the train to sit across from him.

“The dress is fine. It’s my reaction that’s inappropriate,” he says, looking down the top of the neckline as she settles into the chair.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re having such a hard time with it,” she says sweetly. 

“I am. That’s very kind.”

“Let me know if anything arises that I can help with.” She’d be only too happy to help him out of his tux, get at the soft skin under the straight lines and clean edges of his jacket.

“I won’t be shy.”

They order drinks and then Rey has to ask. “Who’s forcing you to go to this gala? It must be someone important, since I know you don’t do things you don’t want to.”

“The truth is,” Ben says, a sheepish look flickering across his face, “it’s a gala my mother’s foundation is throwing. It’s my year to go. My dad and I alternate.”

A thrill shoots up Rey’s spine. Not only has Ben invited her to a gala, she realizes, he has enough confidence in her to introduce her to his mother. She hasn’t even started drinking and she feels dizzy thinking about how easily she’s gained his trust.

“So you needed a date?” she teases.

He sighs as the server sets their drinks on the table. “Yes. And to be completely honest, I also need a drink before we show up there.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t ask you out for a drink?”

“Probably called Armie. He knows everybody who’s going to be there.”

“Your mom and his dad campaigned together, right?”

“Yeah. When she was running for senator the second time, I think. I was a kid so it’s all kind of a blur.”

“Armie probably wouldn’t let you put your hand up his dress during boring speeches, though.”

Hope flares in his eyes. “Is that a possibility?”

“You said you were having a hard time.” Rey touches her glass to his. “Cheers.”

*

“Patience is a virtue, Ben,” Rey says. “That’s what you told me.”

“I’m already going to hell,” he says, swearing at her zipper, “and you and your sinful little mouth will be joining me there.”

“Don’t rip it,” she chides. “Come on. Just pull it up from the bottom.” She reaches down to tug at the hem, but he catches her wrist and puts her hand back on the bathroom wall.

“No. This dress is coming all the way off.” They both giggle, lightly tipsy and high on breaking the rules.

They’d made it all the way to dessert at the gala dinner before Rey abandoned her chocolate mousse, claiming to be “so full I can’t take any more,” and snuck off to the bathroom, with Ben following a minute after. 

Everyone else is having coffee, and they’re banking that no one will get up once the speeches start. It should be plenty of time for a romp in this marble-walled cavern of a bathroom that’s blessedly free of an attendant.

Except Rey hears footsteps. High heels, likely heading for the women’s room, and they’re getting louder. Ben freezes.

“Someone’s coming,” she hisses. “Hide.” He abandons the zipper and leaps into a stall, locking the door.

She straightens her dress and gets to the sink just as the door swings open and Ben’s mother walks in, short of stature but sharp of eye, looking unhappy to see Rey.

“Did you sneak out, too? I swear I’m going back for the speeches,” Rey says in a conspiratorial way.

The senator loses the unhappy look and laughs. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t think anyone would notice if I stepped out while they serve the coffee. I’m Leia. Didn’t I see you come in with Ben?”

Rey opens her mouth to protest, then realizes Leia meant “come in” to the gala, not the bathroom.

“Guilty as charged,” she jokes back. “I’m Rey. I’d shake your hand, but I haven’t washed mine.” As she gestures toward the sink, she sees Ben’s feet reflected in the mirror, sticking out below the door of the stall.

“If he’d introduced us properly, that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“He has put a foot wrong, hasn’t he?” Rey says, enunciating very clearly. Ben’s feet slide out of sight.

“He mentioned he was bringing a plus-one. I thought it would be Armie again.” Leia looks at Rey, not hiding her curiosity. It’s not a question, but Rey needs to tell Leia why she’s here so the senator doesn’t probe further.

“I’m helping Ben make a deal with one of my clients. Another art collector. But tonight I’m just here to make sure nothing gets set on fire,” she lies, turning on the faucet.

Leia laughs again. “Some of us make a career of staying out of trouble. Some of us can’t keep away from it.”

“I take it Ben falls into the latter category?”

For an instant something like a warning flashes in Leia’s eyes. “Like his father—and my father, I guess—before him. You don’t know the half of what he’s gotten into.” She sighs. “Thankfully, I don’t either.”

Rey almost laughs at the idea that Leia thinks she needs to be warned about Ben. As though Rey isn’t the fox in this henhouse of family wealth. “That’s all right. I’m very good at staying out of trouble.”

“That makes two of us. Just—make sure he pays for everything. He can afford it. And tell him I expect him to come see me later.”

“I’ll make sure he does.” Rey dries her hands, then pretends to realize how much time has passed. “Forgive me, I’ve been chatting when you probably want me to leave you alone. Don’t use the stall on the end; there’s no toilet paper. Pleasure to meet you, Senator.”

She slips out without waiting for Leia’s response, listens for the bang of a stall door shutting, and then nearly gets bowled over as Ben follows her out of the bathroom.

“Come on,” he says. “We’re going somewhere with a door that locks.”

He slips the catering staff a clutch of bills to let him have the key to the coat check for half an hour; it’s a warm, summery evening outside, so they haven’t even opened it. He spins her around and tries to push her against the counter, picking up where they left off, but Rey brushes his hand away from her zipper.

“Ben,” she coos. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What do _you_ think?” he growls.

“You’ve been very bad tonight. You didn’t introduce me. Then we almost got caught by your mother. I think you should make it up to me.”

“How am I going to do that?”

She smiles at him over her shoulder. “First, you’re going to get on your knees and use your mouth to make me come. Then you’re going to use it to ask nicely, and I’ll let you fuck me.”

He pales. “We don’t have that much time.”

“Then I guess you’d better get to work. Oh, and Ben?”

“Yes, Rey?”

“Good boys get to come. Bad boys have to go back out there all pent up.”

He groans, but he gets to work. He asks very, very nicely indeed, until she’s the one pleading with him to go just a little harder so she can come all over his cock.

Then they straighten their clothes and return the key. She can barely look him in the eye while they chat to donors, afraid she’ll burst into laughter at the thought of herself gripping the coat-check counter for dear life, train flung over her shoulder so he wouldn’t trip on it. He keeps biting his lip like he’s trying to suppress a smile, and it’s not because the person they’re talking to is telling such a hilarious story about their month in the Hamptons.

It’s a fun night—almost as good as the so-called fun nights she’d spent on the prowl with Rose, buzzing with the feeling of having gotten away with something, bonding over their shared secrets. 

It’s too bad she didn’t get his clothes off, too bad she won’t remember the relief of mole and muscle on his skin. But the memory of him on his knees before her, eyes locked on hers while he rubbed his nose against her, will have to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they never saw each other again, clothed or otherwise, the end


	12. The double play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some more drinking in this one

“Amilyn? How did it go?” Rey’s been waiting for this call ever since Ben told her he’d arranged for the expert to come up to the Catskills.

“Perfect. I went, I saw, I made my expert evaluation. The vase looks great,” Amilyn says.

“It’s worth our while?”

“I can’t make any guarantees, but I think I can get the number you’re looking for.”

That means there’s just one more step: put the squeeze on. Rey disconnects with Amilyn and dials Ben for the last time.

“Tell me something good, Rey.” She’s going to miss hearing her name in that voice once this is over. 

“Isn’t it always good with me?” she asks.

“So good, and your timing is impeccable. I’ve had a fucking nightmare of a day.”

She clicks her tongue in sympathy. “Have you?”

“Idiots everywhere you turn. Let me close my office door and you can make it better.”

She lets concern seep into her tone. “I don’t know if I can, Ben. I actually called about a little problem with the paperwork.”

“I’ll help you with your little problem if you help me with the big problem I have on my hands.”

“Help me first, and then I’ll talk you through it. Using your hands.”

“Make yours quick, then.”

“Number one, your signature isn’t on the paperwork yet. Number two, the moving company I like to use just called. They’re only available tomorrow.”

“You wouldn’t use anyone else?”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else. I know how important this piece is to you, and they specialize in high-value, irreplaceable art. But they told me that if we don’t make the move tomorrow, they can’t do it until the end of September. They’re booked solid doing a couple big exhibitions that start after Labor Day,” she explains.

The moving company said no such thing, but there’s nothing like a deadline to help encourage people to make decisions.

He hesitates. “I see.”

“Ben, I don’t want you to worry. All you have to do is sign the paperwork, they’ll come get the vase, and you’ll get the helmet tomorrow.”

“That soon?” She hears a sudden rhythmic noise in the background. It’s probably typing, but a small part of her mind wonders if he’s touching himself while they talk.

“It’s just a formality. Nothing you haven’t already agreed to.”

“Okay,” he says idly, like his mind has gone somewhere else. “Sure.”

She presses on. “But I wanted to call because the movers are asking me to make a decision.”

The noise stops. He sighs. “When do you need the paperwork?”

“This afternoon? As soon as you can. I know you’re busy.”

“When are they going to come get the vase?”

“Probably tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have them come here to get the helmet first,” she offers.

“All right,” he says.

“Great. Thanks for being so accommodating.”

“You’re making me blush. You’re the accommodating one.”

“Would you like me to see if I can fit you in this weekend?” She might have to make Rose take a hammer to the burner phone so Rey doesn’t actually make plans and meet him after they’ve got the vase.

“Maybe for another drink?”

“I’m always thirsty for a cocktail.” She lifts the phone to end the call, but can’t bring herself to disconnect just yet. “Oh, and Ben?”

“I’m still here.”

“I know you don’t want people to know about it, but I think putting your grandfather’s collection back together is a nice idea. Even if he wasn’t a nice man.”

“It’s fitting. I’m not always a nice man either.”

“Don’t I know it. No one is nice all the time, though. No one is good all the time.” She has to stop before she gets soft and warns him about people like her. “I’m getting all philosophical now that I made my deal. I’ll call you.”

“All right,” he says placidly. “I’ll talk to you soon, Rey.”

“Bye, Ben.”

*

“I propose a toast,” Rey begins, “to a one-of-a-kind woman who can play any role you give her. She’s brilliant, she’s tireless, she’s one of the few people who doesn’t even need sunglasses to make her look hotter.”

“To me!” Rose raises her glass.

“I’m not done proposing. She has the sweetest smile and a killer instinct. She could walk a tightrope in heels even though she hates them. She is going to revolutionize reproductive health. She is going to use this money to make dreams come true!”

They drink. This isn’t the first toast of their night out.

“Okay, okay, now I’ll do you.” Rose clears her throat. “To Rey. A fabulous woman who can pick up on anything you put down. She’s tenacious. She doesn’t give up even when you want her to. She’ll go anywhere with anyone—”

“Hey!”

Rose grins. “She can convince anyone to take her anywhere. And they like it! She has the talent of—if Frida Kahlo and Artemisia Gentileschi had a baby! And the legs of a giraffe.”

Rey takes a mock bow and drinks.

“Let’s do shots,” she says. It seems like the best idea in the world. The logical next step in their evening, which is all about celebrating themselves and their successful scheme.

Rose grabs her wrist before Rey can signal the bartender. “Let’s find someone to pay for the shots.”

Prospects are slim. They’d picked this spot for a night for themselves, and so far nobody has even leaned into their conversation to get to the bar and tried to segue it into a chat.

“Three o’clock?” Rose offers.

Rey groans. “The red-haired guy? Really?”

“Is his hair even red? It’s so dark in here I can’t really see.” Rose shrugs innocently.

“Just call Armie if you want to date someone who looks like that.”

“I don’t want to date anyone. I want to hit it and quit it before med school, and he doesn’t want to be quit.”

“Fine. Let’s swap seats and you can start making eyes at this stranger with red hair, chosen completely at random.”

“It’s no fun if you don’t really want to. What about the guy at seven o’clock? He’s more your type. Dark hair. Can’t stop brooding even though he’s in a bar with his friends.”

Rey’s already clocked him. “His hair’s not long enough,” she says without thinking.

“I didn’t realize you only wanted guys with long hair. Or is it only guys that look like Ben? Did you get a little crush?”

“No!”

Rose eyes Rey skeptically over her glass. “Hasn’t it been a while since you went to Tokyo? Usually by this point your standards have relaxed a little.”

Rey shrugs noncommittally and takes a drink.

Rose almost does a spit take, then chokes it down. “You called him after that,” she says accusingly between coughs.

“Fine. Jesus. We got interrupted in the gallery, so I asked him out for a drink.”

“To finish what you started. I tried to get there later so I wouldn’t catch you, I don’t know, frothing the milk by the coffee machine.”

“It’s so easy to froth with—”

“—his giant steam wand. Yeah, I got that.” Rose makes a hurry-up handwave. “Continue.”

“Amilyn got there early. It’s fine. We had a drink and then went to this gala his mom’s foundation was hosting.”

“Just looking for a random woman to introduce to my mom,” Rose says in a deep voice, imitating Ben. “It’s not, like, a real date.” She shakes her head.

“It was weirdly fun. Kind of like going out with you. Except when his mom almost walked in on us—”

“Why didn’t you just go to a hotel? When I warned you not to go to his apartment, I didn’t mean you had to have sex in public all over the city.”

It’s a very good question. “It seemed like more fun this way. I don’t know. It’s hotter if you’re doing something taboo. Come on, you like breaking the rules, too.”

“I did almost let that guy slip it in on the dance floor in Prague. Was it Prague?”

“That was the last time, though, I swear,” Rey says, drunk enough that she almost tears up from how sincerely she means it. “I had my fix and now I’m going to toss the burner phone.”

Rose pokes her in the sternum. “Sure. You can stop anytime you want.”

*

“I was thinking fried chicken after this? The new Korean place?” Rey says over her shoulder while holding her nose and pouring the now-expired cream down the sink. 

The movers have come and gone and come back, taking the helmet to Ben’s house upstate and bringing the vase to the city. Nothing left to do but sell the vase and clean up. Rey’s promised Finn and Poe another dinner and drinks if they help her and Rose pack up the gallery.

“We had chicken last time. I wanted to try the wine bar,” Finn says, pausing in his struggle to hoist the coffee machine into a shopping bag to pout at her.

“Do they have food?” She’s still lightly hungover from her night out with Rose and can feel the bile rise at the thought of wine on an empty stomach.

“They have a burger menu you can pair with different wines.”

Her stomach stops rebelling and rumbles at the thought of a cheeseburger. “You’ve got a deal. Did you and Rose figure out what we’re doing with the clothes?”

“Just bring them over and I’ll get them dry-cleaned at my usual place.”

“On Maz’s tab?” She’s only half-joking, thinking of the creases in the silk dress she’d worn to the lounge.

Finn clicks his tongue. “Nice try. I’ll send you the bill.”

“Anyone new this week?”

“Actually, yes. A couple getting married at City Hall and a woman who’s going to a black-tie wedding.”

“It’s really taking off, then.”

He grins. “Yeah! I don’t know why I didn’t, you know, become a stylist sooner.”

“Rey, can you come out here a sec?” Rose shouts from the front of the gallery.

It must be Amilyn, who’s come to collect payment for her expert services along with the vase, which she’s agreed to sell for them so Rey can go back to painting.

Rey hands over the envelope of cash. “Amilyn, always a pleasure.”

Amilyn thumbs through it, then tucks it into her tote. “You’re too kind. This is the vase I’m selling?”

“Yeah, the same one you just looked at. We opened it up to scavenge some of the bubble wrap, but I can re-pack if you’re taking it today,” Rose says from the corner where she and Poe are taping foam over the last of the artwork from the walls.

“I’ll send a courier for it later. Someone with better insurance than me. I just want to get a peek to remind myself what I’m dealing with.” Amilyn crouches over the box and peers inside. 

Then she stands up and gives Rey a look that makes Rey’s stomach veer back to the edge of nausea. “Is this a joke?”

Amilyn doesn’t wait for an answer. “Because I can’t sell this for what you want. It’s really well done. The craftsmanship is exquisite, and they’ve used all the right materials. But the pattern isn’t quite right.”

Rey’s mouth floods with saliva. She really might throw up. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not the vase I looked at. I mean, you know I’ve signed off on pieces I shouldn’t have.”

“You don’t have to bring that up now,” Rey protests.

Amilyn plows on. “This is a fake. It’s not worth anything more than that helmet you had made.”

*

Rey and Rose send Finn and Poe for burgers by themselves, and retreat to Rey’s apartment to lick their wounds. They’ve never lost before.

Rose is ready to concede. “I’ll just take out a loan. We’ll have a drink, it will suck for a while, but eventually I’ll be a doctor and this will be a memory,” she says, leaning back on Rey’s couch.

Rey is ready to keep fighting. “Do you think he swapped the real vase for the fake one on purpose?” She gets a bottle of whisky from the kitchen—the one she’d been saving for when they had the vase sold and the money in a bank account, ready to send to the bursar’s office—and swigs from it.

“Does it matter? He did, he didn’t; either way, we don’t have anything to sell.”

“But why do it on purpose? He doesn’t know we gave him a fake helmet.”

“Probably not.”

“Is it some kind of power move? Like wiring his house and then surprising Poe and Beebs. He sets up this deal and then surprises us?”

“It _would_ surprise me.” Rose sits up and motions for the bottle. “He’s paid for all the other art he has. He’s not going around trying to steal the collection back piece by piece.” She eyes the whisky label. “Might as well bring out the good stuff, huh?”

“So what’s different about this time?”

“Maybe because it’s the helmet? It’s the best piece in the collection, he wants it, he feels entitled to it.”

“I don’t know. I think he actually appreciates the art. We spent hours at that exhibition in Tokyo.” Rey lies on the floor and folds her hands over her belly, reflecting.

“And he didn’t hint he was unhappy with the deal that whole time? You were on a plane together for a full day.”

“I didn’t see this coming, okay?” Rey doesn’t mean to shout. She’s not that angry, just feeling guilty that she convinced Rose to do this and it didn’t work out.

“Look, I know you’re sorry. You feel like you’re off your game, right?”

“Are you going to become a neurologist? Because you just read my mind,” Rey jokes by way of apology. They both laugh.

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve been so tired trying to work at the clinic and plan for school that I didn’t give this a hundred percent,” Rose says seriously. “Which was silly, because this whole thing was supposed to get money for me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you. I really wanted one last hurrah before you go off to study.”

“I’m not going to say things won’t change, but we’ll always be friends. Even if this is the end of one era and the start of the next.”

“That’s exactly what Finn said. I’m happy for you, though.” This time when she says she’s happy for Rose, Rey feels like it could be completely true. She’ll just have to keep saying it until it is.

“I’m happy for me, too. It doesn’t matter if I pay cash or take out loans. It’s going to be fine.”

This, however, does not feel true. It makes Rey mad. She bolts upright. “It’s not fine. Two can play at this game.”

“Two _did_ play at this game, Rey,” Rose reminds her. “We cheated him, he cheated us.”

“The difference is, I’m going to make him pay for what he did.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“It is personal. I fucked him in a park, Rose. His dick was inside me.” Rey takes another gulp from the bottle.

“Yes, I’m not a doctor yet, but I know how sex works, thank you.” Rose holds out her hand like she needs to immediately wash away that mental image.

“I’m not going to let him get away with it. I’m not going to admit we’re done until I’ve tried everything.”

“Okay. What’s your plan?”

“What would a man do?”

“Confront him?”

“Too fucking right. I’m going to double down.” Rey rests her elbows on her coffee table and ticks off her points on her fingers. “Think about it. He’s not going to report us because he was too dumb to know he was getting played. He’s already gotten in trouble with the SEC. It comes up when you google his name.”

Rose considers this. “He’s not going to admit to being snookered into another deal that was too good to be true. Or anything else that might go public.”

“Even if he did, he took me to Tokyo and invited me to that gala. I could make it sound like he’s just mad I didn’t let him take advantage of me.”

“When in fact he’s mad that we took advantage of him. Of his own eagerness to get that helmet.”

“Nobody wants to admit they’ve been fooled by a woman. Especially beautiful ones, such as ourselves.”

“Nobody wants to be seen to be thinking with the wrong head,” Rose says sagely.

“So I’ll promise to be discreet if he behaves himself,” Rey concludes.

Rose weighs that. “He gives us the real vase, we go away quietly. If not, it gets out that he’s looking for the Skywalker art collection and desperate to pay whatever it takes.”

“And vulnerable to women in running outfits.”

“Who knew we’d get such a lucky break.”

“Yeah, it was luck, but we were prepared to take advantage of it. It was an opportunity.”

“And this is another opportunity?” Rose lifts her eyebrows.

Rey brings her fist down on the coffee table. “I’m going to turn it into one.”

*

The receptionist at the front of the Finalizer Capital Partners office doesn’t ask too many questions. Rey has a story ready to go, but all she has to do is announce that she has a meeting with Ben Solo. Her imposing heels, tailored suit, and leather briefcase—borrowed from Rose, who used to haul it around to their Eveles meetings—say she belongs here.

She’s ushered down a hall lined with office doors. When they reach the one with his name, the receptionist knocks, opens, and motions Rey inside. He’s at his desk, jacket off, a lock of hair falling over his forehead like he’s been running his fingers through it while he works.

Rey clears her throat. “Hello, Ben.”

His eyes don’t register any surprise. In fact, they might even wrinkle at the corners. The idea that he might be enjoying this makes Rey see red. She fights the urge to march over and whack him with the briefcase.

As the receptionist’s footsteps fade toward the entrance, Rey shuts the door and flips the lock, looking Ben in the eyes.

“I’ve been expecting you,” he says in a mild tone. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“Have you?” She walks toward him. “What did you imagine?”

“I told you. I imagined you on the desk. Under the desk. Bending over the desk.”

“Well, imagine this. I made a deal with someone I thought I could trust. But instead of delivering on his end of it, he cheated me.”

“That sounds very naughty.” There’s still that flicker of amusement in his eyes that makes her want to scream like a banshee and throw his computer monitor out the window. It lets her know that he did this on purpose. He didn’t have a fake made to display and then unwittingly trade it to her.

“I can take a lot. You know that.” She comes right up to his desk and plants her hands on it, letting the briefcase thud to the floor. “But I can’t stand being cheated.”

He stands up suddenly, his chair clattering into the bookshelf behind him. He puts his hands on his side of the desk, mirroring her. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think I should do?”

He leans forward and drops his voice. “I think you should accept when you’ve been beaten at your own game.”

She refuses to back down. “Do you know what I usually do with cheats? I expose them. I tell everyone how they’ve lied. I strip them naked.”

“I certainly think you want to do that. You’re dying to strip me naked.”

“You wouldn’t mind if everyone knew you were desperate to find the rest of your grandfather’s collection? That you’d pay anything for those pieces?” She’s using her silkiest tone, but there’s no mistaking the threat in her eyes. “Or is it that you’ll do anything for those pieces? Screw people on the other end of the deal with a fake?”

“I don’t think you’re going to say anything. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because you cheated, too,” he says, looming even closer. She can see the pulse hammering away at his throat, echoing her own.

“I think you’ve been a very bad girl, Rey. You’re not who you say you are at all,” he continues.

He gives her a smile that she doesn’t like one bit. It’s the same wicked one he gave her in the lounge, when he was about to make her come, and all she could do was sit there and take it.

“What are you suggesting?” She can guess, and it makes her want to throw up. 

She thinks about how Ben waited to tell Poe and Beebs about the apartment being wired. Biding his time before making his power play. She wonders what he’s been keeping from her.

“Oh, I’m not suggesting. I’m saying I know what you and Rose are doing. I’m on to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, who could have seen this coming (except the eagle-eyed commenters who totally guessed it, LOL)
> 
> Last chapter should be up on Friday!
> 
> In the meantime, here's a [fun little story](https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/legal-art-forgery) about legal art forgeries.


	13. The end

“Really? What do you think you know?” Rey’s still got her palms on Ben’s desk, chin thrust at him, refusing to give in.

“Where do you want me to start? With the first time I saw you at the park?” Ben asks.

“When we met because some guy pushed me into you? Are you going to claim that wasn’t an accident?”

“When you were breaking up with some other guy.”

“Oh.” Rey folds her arms.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll tell you the rest?”

“Fine.” She takes one of the chairs across from the desk.

He goes to the window and pauses for a moment, looking out like he’s gathering his thoughts. Then he turns back to her and starts talking.

“Sometimes after my runs I like to stretch by the water. One night I stopped and saw a couple sitting on a bench. The woman was crying pretty loudly. She seemed really upset. But when the guy got up and left, she stopped crying immediately. Does that sound familiar?”

“Could be.”

“I’ll admit I took a good look because she was wearing a short skirt. It’s not every day you see a pair of legs like that. Or someone who can cry whenever they want. It seemed—interesting, let’s say.”

Once again Rey’s surprised by how observant he is. It’s appealing, his sharpness, but having it focused on her makes her feel unpleasantly like the mouse to his cat.

“A little while later, I was running in the park again when I got knocked down by a beautiful woman. Wouldn’t you know it, she had those same long legs. Sports bra overflowing, little bit of sweat I could lick off her face, and she smelled—I don’t know, juicy. Like she’d taste incredible.”

Rey shifts uncomfortably. She should be thinking about how she’s going to get the real vase and keep herself out of prison, not about splaying herself on the desk.

“I thought I was lucky when we accidentally traded phones,” he’s saying, “because I’d get a chance to see her again to trade back. I figured I’d only have the one chance, so why not be up front that I wanted to swap orgasms, too.

“But something about her seemed familiar. I went through her photos to see if maybe we had some friends in common.”

“And what did you find?” Rey asks sullenly.

Ben smiles. “You know exactly what I found. So I went to meet her, imagining that we’d trade phones and have coffee and somehow end up at my apartment with her rolling around in something skimpy and lacy, begging for me to make her come. Just like in those photos.”

“That’s very forward, imagining that,” she says, faux-indignant.

“Don’t pretend I don’t have the same effect on you. And you did beg for it eventually, so, you know, dreams do come true.”

She scoffs. “When did you catch on?”

“To how much you wanted me? When you were practically sitting on my face in the park.”

“To what you think I was doing.”

“Ah. When you told me how you spell your name,” he says. “I realized I had seen you on the photographer’s website.”

“Beebs?”

“I looked them up before they shot my apartment, and I saw the headshots of you and Rose they did. I recognized you from when you were leading that startup.”

“Eveles. So?”

“Eveles,” Ben repeats. “A funny business. I got so many calls a few years ago from investors who were dying to know how Finalizer could get them in on that. Who were so eager to meet the two young women in charge. Ideally for dinner.”

He paces in front of the window, glancing at her to see how she’s reacting. Milking the drama. She tries not to let her face show that she thinks she might be screwed.

“But the more I looked into it, the more I wondered about it. A company claiming to revolutionize vaccines, run by two people with hardly any experience in the pharmaceutical space. A board of directors made up of men who were big names in business or law or politics, but who had no background in medicine. Press coverage that focused on how wonderful it was that two young women were running the business, rather than how they were actually going to deliver their product. I read a lot of those stories.”

“What did you think?”

“They made me want to invest, of course. Everyone in finance gets hard for a feel-good fairy tale like that.

“I had to conclude it was a scam, though. A very clever one. But a scam. I figured eventually I’d read that you stepped down or got in trouble with the feds, so when I saw the stories about Kaydel taking over, I thought you’d been very smart. You quit while you were ahead.”

That’s exactly what happened, but Rey doesn’t want to admit anything. “Why didn’t you say something?” she asks.

“I was curious. So I went to Phyllida’s party, and when Armie told me that Rose implied she had the helmet and you wanted to sell it to me, I assumed the whole deal was your latest scheme. What are the chances she would have the very piece I wanted the most?”

“It could have been a coincidence. Like our meeting at the park.”

“Sure. Except that Armie told me all about your trip to Europe and that he paid for it. He didn’t seem to mind, but it made me think that you and Rose had been running things for years. That Eveles was just another one of your grifts.”

It dawns on Rey that she’s not getting the real vase. He knows too much and clearly suspects the helmet is a fake. He’s never going to give her anything for it. The thought makes her furious.

But, she tells herself, trying to stay calm, if she plays this right—if she figures out what he actually wants—she might be able to get something else out of it. He’s telling her this because he wants to impress her. He must want _something_ or he wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“So you never intended to go through with the deal,” she says. “You were just wasting our time.”

Ben shrugs. “I wanted to play along and see what happened. I thought I’d get taken for a ride. And maybe get to take you for a ride.”

“Well, congratulations, at least one of us got what they wanted.”

“I was never going to give you any money. I didn’t even mean for you to find out about my second house. Why do you think I suggested a trade?”

“We needed that money, though.”

“For what? Your outfits? More sushi dinners?”

“Rose is going to med school,” Rey says, feeling sorry for herself. She decides to tell the truth to make him feel sorry, too. “She’s been working at a clinic and she wants to become a doctor because she thinks she can help the patients more that way. I didn’t want her to have to take out any loans.”

“Oh.” Ben stops pacing and thinks for a moment. “I can talk to Armie. He’d probably loan her the money interest-free.”

Rey sighs. “All right.”

“Do you think she’d go out to dinner with him? He might just give her the money if she was willing to pay attention to him once in a while,” he suggests.

She grimaces. “I cannot imagine Armie as a sugar daddy. But I’ll talk to her.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re very good.”

“I’m listening,” she says. “Flatter me.”

He leans against the front of the desk, his shins inches from her knees. She could reach out and kick him.

“The gallery was very convincing. My taste isn’t the most sophisticated, but you had some very nice paintings in there.”

“I’m glad you were looking at something besides my ass. Those were my paintings.”

That surprises him. He chuckles. “Well, well. A real con artist. Did you make that helmet, too?”

“No. I had it commissioned,” she confesses, then counters immediately. “Where did you get your fake vase?”

“Same. I admit I had to fire off some emails to get it ready for the movers at the last minute. Having them come the next day did put the squeeze on a bit.”

That explains the noise on their last phone call. He wasn’t jerking off, just typing. “Some would say I forced you to make a decision in a hurry. Some would say the deal came together at the perfect time,” she says.

“That St. Martin story you whipped up for me at dinner. Now _that_ was a piece of art.”

“You don’t think that’s really why I came to America?”

He gives her a look. “Sleeping with both twins? Come on. You just wanted me to be too distracted by the thought of you with another woman to worry about whether any of it was true.

“There was the problem of your parents, too,” Ben continues. “See, you went on this amazing vacation with them. But there weren’t any contacts in your phone labeled Mom and Dad. I checked to see if there was someone I could call when I realized I had your phone.”

“I can’t just phone them. They’re in England,” Rey tries. She can’t face the thought of bringing up her past right now, tossing that ugly little gray rock into the collection of polished bijoux they’re trading.

“Hmm.” He meets her eyes and seems to decide to move on. “That story wasn’t a complete fiction, though. I believe that you’d go around sleeping with twins. You made me tie you up in a park and you agreed to come to Tokyo with a near-stranger.”

“I’m such a brazen hussy.”

“You didn’t blink when my mother almost caught us.”

“You’re welcome for telling you to hide your big feet,” she throws back. “You didn’t blink when you sold those guys at the coffee place on the electric-car play you just happened to be working on. Does that company even exist?”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t actually crack a smile this time. “You’re welcome for shutting them up.”

“Was that my influence, or are you going around being a fraud on your own? Is that why your mother told me not to pay for anything?”

Instead of answering, he props himself up with a hand on either side of her legs, his face inches from hers. “What I especially like about you is that you’re so sensitive. So in tune. So responsive.”

“I respond to positive reinforcement.” She spreads her legs slightly so her thighs touch his forearms, feeling the heat of his body in those two small spots.

“I know you do. So what am I going to do with you?”

“What do you want, Ben?” she asks breathily. “You want to punish me for being a bad girl?”

“Well, I’d want to do it myself,” he says, running one hand up to the waistband of her skirt. “I’m not going to turn you in.”

“Of course not,” she says, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. “What would be the fun in that?”

“I agree,” he says, pulling back and leaning against the desk. “We could have so much more fun together.”

“Maybe I could help you take those meetings with those guys from Tokyo. I’m sure they’d respond to a little sweet-talking.”

“Maybe so,” he says, a little too casually.

That’s it. Suddenly everything clicks for Rey. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? You played along, then you saw how good I am and you thought, I could use her in my business deals. Or the art deals,” she says.

“You tested me by taking me to Tokyo and to that gala, to see how we fit together. You sent me the fake vase and waited for me to get mad and come here so you could get me to agree to team up. You even got me to suggest it first, like it was my idea. You’re good, Ben. You’re very good.”

“So I’m told.”

She shakes her head. She wants to slap him, spank him, make him scream. She wants him to do the same to her. “Fuck you,” she says, but she’s more incredulous than angry now.

He gives her a big smile, dimpled cheeks and everything, pleased with himself. “I expect you will. Lots more.”

*

“I told you, one more email,” Ben shouts from his office. “We need to get this rolling before they announce anything.”

“That’s what you said five minutes ago,” Rey shouts back from the living room. “Hurry up!”

“Take your clothes off while I set up this meeting,” he calls. “Encourage me.”

She’s lying across the chaise, dress lifted up so the camera in the bookcase can see her tracing lazy circles over her underwear. Her thoughts started out anchored on their latest scheme, in which an oil executive will make questionable decisions and reveal some insider information to the two of them, and then drifted to the questionable things she wants Ben to do to her tonight. She knows he’s watching her touch herself on the screen mounted next to his desk.

Finally his office chair rolls back. Rey props her arms behind her head to watch him come down the hallway. He’s already taken most of his clothes off, and his bare thighs come into the room first, trailed by his abs and shoulders.

The first time she’d seen him naked was after they’d gone to dinner for a serious discussion about working together that devolved into trading stories about their least favorite investors. She’d suggested going back to his apartment and made him turn on all the lights in the bedroom so she could see every single freckle.

“It’s even better than in the photos,” she’d breathed, half to herself, when she finally got her hands on his bare skin. 

He’d frowned. “What photos?”

She told him he’d have to torture it out of her, and only when his nose and chin were slick with her did she tell him she’d figured out how to get into his phone. He’d laughed and called her clever, but he’d also blindfolded her while he finished tonguing her, telling her it was for looking at things she wasn’t supposed to.

The second time she’d tied his wrists with the sash of his bathrobe—mainly so he couldn’t blindfold her again—and made him sit still in his office chair while she lapped at his cock, drinking in the way he tensed when she hiccuped around it, suckling at the saltiness trickling out of him.

The third time had turned into a whole weekend upstate, the two of them savoring the last summer-soft days of the year by rolling in the grass and kissing in the pool, taking breaks to order from the one pizza place in town and sketch out where pieces were going to go in the gallery building.

Now Rey’s almost lost count. Ben takes the last few steps to her at a run, then scoops her up and slides underneath her. He gives her a few playful smacks—she’s more conscious of his erection brushing her waist as he flips her than his hand stinging her ass—and hauls her up to standing.

“I said clothes off,” he reminds her. “I’m ready to go, and you’re out here dawdling.”

“I’m just enjoying the view,” she says, eyes locked on the spot where his cock is stretching the fabric of his briefs. She pulls the dress over her head, then flings her bra and underwear away. “There. I’m ready, too.”

“Come here then.” He lies back and holds out his hands, inviting her to climb on top of him.

Rey turns around and rests her knees in the dimples formed by the tufts in the leather, careful not to catch his hair. His fingers pull insistently at her hips, and she looks over her shoulder to watch him lowering her down. His eyes are closed and his mouth is already open like she’s communion and he’s both priest and congregant, sternly offering pleasure and reverently accepting it.

She glances at the camera. Its black eye is beaming her into the office, the way she’s rocking against Ben’s face and teasing her own nipples.

She reaches down and pulls his underwear off, brushing his cock with her fingers before bending forward to nuzzle at the head. Once they’re both gasping, she slides down and presses the slick tip to the wetness at her own entrance, sinking onto him to fill herself up.

The chaise creaks as she rolls her hips, but she braces her knees and goes harder, letting the insides of her thighs slap his hipbones at the bottom of each thrust. She’s both in the moment and out of it, thinking about how good it is to feel him tremble beneath her and how her tits will bounce when they watch the footage later.

When she pauses, Ben grabs her by the waist. “Get up on your hands and knees,” he says.

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to see my face in the video?”

“What video?” she asks innocently.

“Or is it better without my face? What kind of video is this, Rey?” he asks while she shifts so he can kneel behind her.

“It’s about a good girl who’s corrupted by a bad boy,” she teases.

He laughs. “You, a good girl? I’m not sure I buy that.” He slides back into her in one movement and even though he was just inside her, it makes her gasp.

“It’s not about a good boy, I’ll tell you that.” She squirms a bit until she doesn’t feel quite as stretched.

“Definitely not.” He starts moving.

“It’s about a girl who behaves very badly until she meets a boy who is just as desperate and just as slutty.”

“Then what happens?” He lifts her by the waist so he can nip at her shoulders while he keeps fucking her with shallow thrusts.

Her fingers find her clit. “Then they behave even worse. Together.”

“Heartwarming.”

“There’s a happy ending, too.”

“Soon?”

“Very soon if you keep going.”

“I should have known. You’re always so needy.”

“You’re always so hard.”

“I love fucking your sweet little cunt.”

“I love getting fucked by your pretty cock.”

She’s so caught up in talking that she doesn’t notice how close she actually is. She forgets to arrange her face for the camera when she comes, all thoughts of what she looks like shoved aside by the pressure of her fingers and his cock where she’s swollen and tight.

He shuts up, stops trying to outdo her, and just _does_ her, finally jerking forward with his own climax as she arches back against him.

They lie on the chaise for a few minutes, Rey on her side and Ben curled around her, the hair on his legs tickling her calves.

Then Ben says, “Do you want to help me write this email now?”

“How did you know?” Rey turns over. “I looked at your draft before, and it’s good, but I think we should only suggest one date we can meet instead of two. There’s more urgency that way.”

He kisses the tip of her nose. “You’re always scheming.”

She smiles. “Now you do know everything about me. Travel, poetry, art, scheming.”

“It’s okay. You know everything about me.”

“I know you like it,” she says, kissing his nose back. “You know everything and you like it.”

“No,” he says. “I love it.”

“Me, too, Ben. Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> game recognize game
> 
> Thanks for reading these silly, scammy sexcapades! Your comments have been an utter DELIGHT and my heart is as full of gratitude as Rey's head is full of schemes.


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